Love and War
by jeffhardyluvsme
Summary: This is a slash story based of a one-on0one RP between MyBoswell and I. Its is John/Sherlock slash, so if you don't like don't read. I warned you, don't say I didn't. Hope you enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N:_

_The date is September 20__th__ 9:04 p.m. and I have just edited this to make it into second person…..hope y'all don't mind :D_

This was not where he had imagined himself. He was not supposed to be in the middle of a pointless war, in a foreign land with heat beating on the back of his neck and a strict uniform clinging to his body. The buttons were restraining, and he forced himself not to tug at them, not wanting to appear affected in any way. Training had been tedious at best, mindless manual work that left boredom creeping at the edges of his mind. The trip from the motherland to Afghanistan had been mind-numbingly dull, the majority of his time spent staring at walls and ignoring those men that had tried to make conversation. He could read their stories on them, from the way they walked to the way they dressed, and none of them were interesting enough to catch his attention. He should have been in the heart of London, his city. He should have been working in his own business, solving those interesting little problems the police were too ignorant to handle. Unfortunately, no matter how much he loved his city, it required money to live in it. Money which he no longer had, and his brother was no longer willing to supply for him. So here he was. In Afghanistan, fighting a fight that was not his own. "Here we are, men! Go find your tents!" Holmes stopped as the others continued, taking in the camp. Meager canvas coverings, men laying about, simply allowing their brains to rot. There were trenches all around, hardly suitable covering for the types of weapons he knew would be aimed at him and the others. Already his powerful imagination supplied him with an image of himself crouching down, bullets flying over his head, warm blood streaked across his face. Setting his jaw, Holmes shifted his bag - sparse, impersonal belongings - on his shoulder and ventured further into the little longer under the watchful eye of his officer, Holmes began to loosen his uniform, undoing the top buttons of his coat and running his hand through his black locks, causing them to stick in odd directions. He did not seem nervous or excited like the others. He was blank, dark eyes betraying no emotions. This was simple necessity. He would serve his time for Queen and country, and he would go home. If he made it that far.

John sighed, looking out to the new soldiers. Thinking to his self, "Most of these men, won't even last a month. He looked out to his left and saw a solider starting to loosen his uniform, John started to head over there, "You there! What's you name solider?" he asked once he reached the man.

Not even five minutes into the camp and an officer was already calling him out. Holmes bit back a sigh, turning around to face the speaker. His dark eyes flickered up and down, looking over him. He was a doctor, that much was easy enough to deduce, which immediately put him several ranks above Holmes."Holmes, sir," he answered, a dry note crawling up under his tone. "Sherlock Holmes."

John bit back a smile at the blank look at Mr. Holmes' face, "Well Mr. Holmes, if you did not know we do not start taking off our uniforms just yet." he looked the man up and down, taking in his slightly ruffled appearance, John finally ended on his dark eyes, getting memorized in them. He shook his head, snapping out of his slight stare, "I would hurry and get your things in your tent, you never know when a battle will start. We always want to be ready."

Holmes did not miss the way the doctor studied him, only holding steady under his gaze. Perhaps he was not here to defend Queen and country like so many of these other men - like this man before Holmes - but showing weakness was not an option. Higher rank or not, he would not be intimidated. Still, there was something different about this one. Something Holmes wasn't sure he was prepared for. A once-over of his uniform and equipment, and Holmes was able to spot his name. It seemed the perfect opportunity to startle him and catch him off guard, as he hadn't told Holmes it himself. "Well Dr. Watson," said Holmes with a patronizing smile, "I am quite certain of our safety for the time being."

John was slightly caught off guard by how Mr. Holmes knew his name, "How did you know my name? I don't remember telling it to you." Not at all missing his patronizing smile.

Satisfaction bubbled up inside of Holmes, pleased to have surprised him. "It was not terribly difficult, Doctor. It is required that all soldiers have their name located on their uniform. I merely observed." Watson was, at the very least, entertaining to surprise. Still, trifling deductions would not occupy Holmes long. He hoped he would find something more challenging, or he fears he might go insane with boredom.

John blushed, angry at his self for forgetting about his "name tag". John decided that he was not going to let this soldier think he was an idiot, he was a doctor for gods sake, John steeled his self just enough to get the blush off of his face. "Of course Mr. Holmes, I had momentarily forgotten. Wearing this uniform as long as I have it has become a part of me. But that was very good on observing that." John gave Holmes his special smirk letting him know that John was smart, and that's why he was where he was in the military.

Seeing the blush on Watson's face, Holmes silently prepared his self for whatever punishment the man intended. Officers were not fond of being embarrassed and shown up by those of lower rank. Yet, much to his surprise, Watson did not order him to run or do push-ups. Watson complimented him, and he smirked. This time, Holmes was the one caught off guard, unsure of what to make of the reaction. This man was definitely different from the others, and strangely enough... Holmes was intrigued. "You are the first officer to believe so."

John smiled, "I'm not like most officers Mr. Holmes." He looked to the sun, slowly making its way down, out of the sky, breathing in the last of the summer air when John heard the unmistaken sound of cannon fire. "Get down," was all he yelled as he jumped on Mr. Holmes, knocking him to the ground, just in time to get them both on the ground when a explosion hit just ten feet behind them, showering them with dirt and other debris. You could hear the screams of wounded men as John got back up to start shouting out orders.

The sound reached Holmes, but he was not entirely aware of what it was until he was already on the ground with the doctor over him. Gunfire Holmes knew like the sound of his own voice, but this was new to him, startling him. Yet Watson was already up again and ready, barking orders to the scrambling men. Holmes remained on the ground for only a moment longer, noting everything in his mind so that he would not be caught off guard again. The smell of gunpowder, the distant click of our enemy's weapons, and the sound of their feet hitting the dirt. Adrenaline rushed through Holmes, waking him from the constant state of boredom he had been in since he first joined the military. Rolling out of the way of a gun shot, Holmes shot to his feet, looking left and right. He heard Watson's orders, but there was a reason Holmes was still a Private when many of the men he'd trained with had advanced to Corporals. He was bad at following orders. Instead of taking cover as we'd always been trained to do, Holmes snatched a rope from one of the near-by tents, a plan already turning in his head.

John looked around as all he could hear was the sound of gunfire and the screams of wounded and dying men, as he finished shouting out his orders. John's eyes stopped on Holmes' grabbing a rope from one of the tents by him. "What in the bloody hell do you think your doing solider! We're under attack!" John yelled over all of the sounds happening around us.

Holmes heard Watson shouting behind him, and a wry smile touched his lips. "Yes, Doctor, that much is obvious," Holmes responded over the chaos around them, well aware of his habit for levity at the most inappropriate of moments. Holmes took a grenade from his belt, pressing his back to a tree for sparse cover. Holmes secured the rope around the explosive, using his teeth to ensure it was tight. The enemy soldiers were too far to throw the grenade, but he knew with the proper amount of momentum, it could reach them. Stepping back out into the open, Holmes pulled the pin, swinging the grenade around by the rope. When he released it, the little object launched through the air, straight at the soldier controlling the cannon.

John just stared Holmes in complete shock, until he heard a crunch of a twig behind them, pulling out his gun he turned to see an enemy solider behind them. Putting his gun up John shot the man in the head killing him instantly. John shook his head at Holmes and said as a bit of a joke, "And you thought we were going to be fine for the time being." Then John pointed to Holmes' empty hands, "You are going to have to teach it to me one day."

Holmes looked over his shoulder, again surprised, but simultaneously pleased when he saw that Watson had saved him yet again. The man was proving to be far more adept than those Holmes had trained with, as well as the officers that had been in charge of the training. "It would be my pleasure, Doctor." He answered just as the explosion of the grenade sounded, a burst of fire jumped up. A bullet whirred by his head and he dropped down, taking Watson's sleeve to pull him with Holmes. "There are several men sneaking toward the back tents. Would you be willing to sacrifice a shelter or two to be rid of them?"

John was surprised at Holmes' quick acting on pulling him out of the way, but very pleased at the same time. For his suggestion though John just looked at him smirking, "As long as those bastards die I'll do just about anything. Tell me what I need to do," John finished preparing his self for just about anything that Holmes needed him to do.

'What do you need me to do?' No words had ever thrilled Holmes so much. He will be the first to admit his eccentricities, but it often leads others to pay no mind to his words, as he had not yet established his self in the world. No one yet recognized the strength behind his mind, save this man, and an officer no less! John Watson. Holmes would not soon forget the name. Holmes peered around, thoughts whirring, cogs turning. "Grab a pair of the gas lamps and follow me."

John hurried up and went to find a pair of gas lamps, finding them in what was a tent before the first explosion. John grabbed them and went back out to Holmes, with a lamp in each hand. When he reached Holmes John held out one of the lamps to Holmes, seeing if he wanted to take it all while saying, "I got them, now lead the way."

Holmes took the lamp, smiling to his self. "This way, Watson." Holmes hurried toward the back tents, keeping his head low to avoid bullets. He stopped a few tents away from the invaded ones, clenching his teeth around the handle of the lamp so that he could begin shucking off his uniform coat. Holmes smashed the lamp open and began pouring the gas over his bunched up coat, leaving only one sleeve dry. "Use that lamp to light the dry sleeve," he ordered, forgetting our ranks for the moment in favor of taking down these enemies.

As Holmes took the lamp John offered to him and led the way to a few tents away from the invaded ones John couldn't help but be glad with the way Holmes was taking charge. 'This is the type of man we need in the military,' John thought to his self as he followed Holmes' instructions and light the dry coat sleeve on fire.

As the sleeve was lit, the fire began to travel quickly up it, headed straight for the cloth drenched in gasoline. Holmes placed the material by the invaded tents swiftly and quietly before hurrying back. "We have approximately twelve seconds before the flame hits the gasoline, Doctor, we had best move quickly." Not wanting him to get caught in the explosion, Holmes took his hand, pulling John with him as Holmes ran for a trench to take cover with the others.

"We have approximately twelve seconds before the flame hits the gasoline, Doctor, we had best move quickly," said Holmes before grabbing John's hand and leading him away from the tents. John let Holmes drag him along, thankfully when twelve seconds hit they were far enough from the explosion that it only knocked them to the ground, with John landing slightly on top of Homes with the smallest blush crawling up John's cheeks.

The explosion knocked the breath out of Holmes, but it did no more damage than that. When he regained his whits, he realized he was looking up at Watson, and his cheeks had colored just slightly. It certainly had not been caused by running. Holmes was not one to be easily embarrassed, and yet he felt his self reacting as well, Holmes' face flushing to match John's. Luckily, though, a gunshot shook me back into the real world, this time from our side. Holmes shifted onto his elbows, looking to the side. "They are retreating!"

John stood up holding his hand out to Holmes, "You are a very smart man Mr. Holmes, and right now we are all in your debt. If you ever need anything at all just let me know." finishing John smiled at him.

Holmes took the hand offered to him, pulling his self to his feet. By now he must have been a poor image for a soldier, his coat missing, the rest of his uniform dirty, Holmes covered in dirt and smelling of gasoline, yet he was content. "Please, just Holmes will do, Doctor." Holmes peered around again, contemplating John's words. He was a doctor, he could likely get Holmes cocaine easily... yet he could tell by John's character he would not approve of such a thing. Instead, Holmes smiled wryly. "I'm afraid there is little you could offer me, but your offer is appreciated."

John nodded, "Of course Holmes, just always remember the offer is there." he then turned and went off to see what help he could do. John ran into the medical tent, well what was left of it, and went to the first man he saw. He was moaning of the pain in his side, and even though John have been a doctor for quite some time he could never get used to the sight of a man's guts hanging out of his side. John immediately set to work on the poor man, trying to do the best he could, but sadly ten minutes later he was dead. So John went on to the next man, and for the next few hours he just set to my work, saving people and helping easing there pain, while they died.

_A/N:_

_Hello, this is the first roleplay I ever did(one on one) with the every wonderful MyBoswell. It will be rated M in later chapters, I'm going to rate it to for now because of war, slight violence and cuss words. If you couldn't tell already yes this is John/Sherlock slash. So yes there will be sex, if you don't like stop reading now. Please R&R if you want to._

_Lots of Love,_

_Savannah 3_


	2. Chapter 2

As Watson walked hurried away, Holmes watched, falling silent as others rushed around. His heart was slowing again, the adrenaline leaving him. Men were still dying, suffering, yet a small part of Holmes already missed the danger, the challenge. Frowning, he approached what was left of the tents they'd blown up, assisting to put the fire out before it could spread. Once the flames had been doused, Holmes crouched down, pulling aside canvas to look at the remains of the bodies, studying them. The excitement gone, regret began to tug at his chest. Even scorched, he could read a lot about them, seeing their stories in their remains.

By the time John was dismissed from the medical tent it was well past dark, he started on his way to his tent so he could get some sleep before the next day. Halfway there John got very nauseous feeling so he sat down on a log that was not to far out of his way.

Holmes helped the others in restoring the camp, though his work was finished long before the doctor's. Holmes ended up just walking around, observing everything, memorizing the layout of the camp, as he had his city. He felt myself missing it again, London, but he could not dwell on such things. It was dark before Holmes saw Watson again, his face lit up by the campfires. Holmes should not go to him, he knew, growing attached to someone in a time of war was foolish - there was no telling how long they would last. Yet, when he wavered, nausea clear, Holmes could not help his self. "Doctor," he greeted approaching the log and pushing his hands into his pockets. "It seems you have overworked yourself."

John looked up to see Holmes standing in front of him with his hands in his pockets, looking down at John. John smiled weakly as he replied, "I will be fine, thank you for your concern." As he finished talking he looked up into Holmes eyes and was once again memorized by the darkness of them.

John's smile eased Holmes a little, but not by much. He was clearly tired. Still, Holmes accepted his words, just nodding in response, though he kept a close eye on him. Holmes could not argue taking care of one's own body; it was not uncommon for him to go days without food or rest when he was working, running only on his drugs. Instead, he sat beside John. "... You listened to me. Earlier. During battle."

John just looked at Holmes confused, no longer drowning in his eyes, "Of course I listened to you, why wouldn't I? I may be a commanding office, but I believe that every solider should have a say." John then stood up, "I should be going, I am going to need and get some sleep. I will see you tomorrow Holmes." He then started out to finish the walk to his tent so he could get some rest.

'Every soldier should have a say?' Holmes smiled wryly. It was not the same rules the rest of the world followed. It was the reason Holmes had been forced to join the military. Scotland Yard would not listen to him, no matter how right he was. No one would because his methods were strange, different. "Goodnight, Watson." Holmes had nothing more to say than that. Perhaps he would turn in as well. Or perhaps... His eyes wandered to the medical tent, the cocaine entering his mind again, sending a craving through him. The boredom was creeping in, drawing him to the drug. Perhaps he could find some there.

As soon as John reached his tent he sighed, muttering to his self once he realized that he had left some things in the medical tent. John turned around and started his weary way back, it took him a couple of minutes and once he reached it all he could head was the sounds of wounded men deeply breathing, and a slight rustling. John went to investigate, "Hello," he called out, "Is someone there?"

Holmes moved as quietly as possible into the tent, weaving through the wounded men. Holmes located the medicine easily enough, digging through for the cocaine with furrowed brows. Holding a bottle up to the light, he smiled as he read 'benzoylmethylecgonin' on the label in the dim light. Holmes knew the name well as his drug, though it was likely not as strong as his own seven-per-cent solution. It would have to do."Hello," Holmes heard, and tensed up immediately. "Is someone there?" Watson. Closing my eyes, Holmes tucked the bottle into his pocket, turning toward his voice. "Watson," Holmes called back coolly. "I thought you had turned in for bed."

John was confused to see Holmes standing in front of him and John let it how on his face, holding up a bottle of rubbing alcohol and bandages he said, "I forgot some things, what are you doing here Holmes? You shouldn't be in here." John quickly looked Holmes over, "Your not injured are you?"

Holmes shook my head no, a lie already rolling easily from his lips. "Merely a scratch, Doctor," he was far too used to lying in his line of work, it was second nature to him. "I caught a piece of wood while helping clean up the camp. It's nothing I can't handle myself."

John nodded, not quite sure if he should believe Holmes, "Of course Holmes, I will now be turning I for the night, if you need my assistance you can easily find me. Goodnight." With that John turned, walked out of the medical tent and went back to his tent. The entire way back he couldn't quite shake the feeling that Holmes was hiding something from him.

Holmes waited until he could no longer hear Watson's footsteps before Holmes began searching for a syringe. He pierced the seal of the cocaine bottle, filling the syringe before he rolled up my sleeve, revealing the litter of puncture wounds over his arms. He closed his eyes, piercing the skin again and slowly injecting the drug and reveling in the familiar burn. Holmes' heart beat faster, his thoughts rushing and senses sharpening. The boredom was gone, replaced by that euphoria he had come to know well.

When John got back into his tent he sat down on his cot and took off his coat and shirt, looking down at his side groaning slightly when he saw the wound on his side. John shook his head, now how in bloody hell did that get there, oh well. John cleaned it and bandaged it knowing that in the morning it would need to get a couple of stitches. John finished then he laid down after he changed out of his uniform and went to sleep. The entire time John was asleep all his dreams were about one person-Sherlock Holmes. John suddenly sat up from his sleep, the last dream still running through his head, Holmes was sitting there in the medical tent with a smile on his face and a syringe in his arm. He was doing drugs, most likely cocaine.

Holmes took to one of the tiny tents that night, savoring the euphoria, for he knew it would not last long. Once it did wear off, after only a quarter of an hour, all that was left was that consuming darkness he was also familiar with. He did not sleep, shuddering though the summer night was warm, curling under the blankets as sweat drenched his body, cravings returning to him. The side-effects always lasted longer than the bliss, and it was well into the morning that Holmes still felt them, remaining hidden in his tiny tent even as the other soldiers started their breakfasts.

When John finally woke up the sun was just starting to rise, he got up and dressed, heading for the mess tent. Halfway there John was walking by one of the smaller tents where the lesser soldiers stayed, for some unknown reason to his self I stopped at one of the tents and went into it, not knowing what he was to find. John was shocked to see Holmes laying under a blanket, still what seemed to be asleep.

Holmes heard the rustle of canvas as the opening of the tent was pushed aside and, blearily he looked up. Strangely enough, he was not surprised to see his commanding officer there, as luck had not seemed to favor Holmes for months - why should it now? Watson would surely recognize the symptoms of the drug on Holmes, there was little point in trying to hide it. Instead, he decided to act calmly. "Doctor," Holmes greeted, shuddering again and pulling the blankets tighter around his body. "Do keep the tent closed, won't you? I am not yet prepared to see anything so bright as the Afghan sun."

John watched as Holmes pulled the blanket tighter around him, shuddering all the while, and John immediately knew. John closed the tent like he asked and then went over and kneeled down beside Holmes. "That's what you were doing in the medical tent wasn't it. Which drug did you use and where is it if you have any left?" was all John asked Holmes, very much disapproving of his actions.

"Calm yourself, Doctor," Though Holmes did not want to, he forced his self up onto his elbows, looking at Watson. Holmes reached into the pocket of his uniform, which he still remained in from the night before, dirty from battle, and pulled out the bottle, pressing it into Watson's palm. "Cocaine. Nothing I haven't had before, though I dare say, my own solution is generally much stronger."

John nodded, "Thank you, but next time ask me and I will help you with something. It may not be this, but I can help you, you are a good man and one day," he then held up the bottle, "This will kill you. If your stupidity does not first." John then walked out of the tent, shaking his head as he headed to the medical tent to put this back where it belongs. For some reason John was feeling protective of this solider, 'What has gotten into me?' was all he could think.

Holmes was a difficult man to surprise, and yet this man had done it again. Holmes stared after John as he left, furrowing his brows. Was that all he had to say on the matter? He did not yet at Holmes for stealing drugs from the medical tent, but instead... Shaking his head, Holmes sighed and forced himself to stand. He shucked off his old uniform, replacing it with a clean one, hiding away the scattering of dark purple bruises on his arms caused by his habit. Holmes had to go out eventually.

When John was done hiding the medicine he went to the mess tent where he got him a small plate, because he knew that even though he wasn't hungry he needed something to eat. As John ate he listened to all then men talk about their homes and it made him miss London and his family. Most of all John missed his fiancée Mary, a wonderful women she is, John wishes he see her at least once. All he could hope is that she hasn't found someone else to replace him with.

Sherlock made his way out of the tent, squinting against the sun that made his head pound due to the drugs. He made his way to the mess tent with the others, though Sherlock was not particularly hungry, taking only a piece of toast with no plate to eat it on. The men chattered about their lives at home and he gritted his teeth slightly, bitterness brewing up inside him. Sherlock could be in his dear city now, solving cases, putting his brain to use, rather than waiting to die here, whether it be by a gunshot or his own boredom. Sherlock spotted Watson seated at the table, though with a large group of men. Sherlock was not a particularly social creature, and so shied away from joining him. Instead, Sherlock found a more secluded table, sitting down and nibbling at the corner of his toast. He simply observed, his mind supplying him with details that others always overlooked.

When John finished eating he took his plate up and on his way out of the tent John saw Holmes sitting by his self eating a piece of toast and nothing else. John nodded at him, but before he could walk out of the tent he was interrupted by a soldier carrying a bag in calling out, "Mail call, come and get it fellows." John went up to the young man and took the two letters he held out for John. He took them and went to sit under a tree so that he could read them in peace. One letter was from his parents and the other from Mary, he smiled as he opened up the letter from his parents.

The call for mail drew my attention, and Sherlock glanced up in time to see Watson take his letters. There were two, and from Sherlock's position, he could see enough details about them to make a few deductions. They were written by two separate people; an older woman, calm and kind, from a middle class up-bringing - likely from his mother, if not both his parents. The other was from a much younger woman, the writing delicate, and his sharp sense of smell picked up the scent of perfume - a lover. For some reason, the thought caused Sherlock to bristle."Holmes!" The mail-carrier called, holding up a plain white envelope, and Sherlock scoffed, standing to take it from him. Instead of opening it, though, Sherlock followed Watson out, approached a campfire, and tossed the envelope into the fire.

_Dear Son,_

_I hope you are well, I know that you are doing wonderfully in the military and I couldn't be any prouder of my son. I have gotten over my illness that I had the last time your mother and I wrote to you. Things are going very well here and I hope that you are still safe over in the war. Goodbye for now._

_Love,_

_Your Father_

_P.S. Your mother has also enclosed a letter for you in here._

John smiled as he finished the small letter from his father and went to the letter from mother.

_Dear John,_

_Every day I read the letter that you last wrote to us and it makes me miss my son more and more. Your father's health has improved since the last time we wrote to you, but sadly Mary has gotten slightly ill. Though do not worry, it is nothing to worry about, she will be back up and healthy again in no time. Every day I wonder what it will bring, will you come back home? Will you be alive when you do, or will I be left without a child. Do not worry, everything I say is just a mother's worry. I know that you will come back alive and well, but for now I give you my love and say goodbye._

_Love forever,_

_You Mother_

John laughed slightly at my mother's worries, but went to Mary's letter next so he could truly confirm whether she was okay or not.

_Dearest John,_

_I do not know what it was that your mother wrote to you, but do not worry I am fine, all I have is a touch of the flu. I will be just fine in a few days, so please do not worry. I can not wait for you to return home, I am ready for you to marry me, and me to you. I love you so very much. Things here in London have been very boring, only a few exciting things have happened since you left, along with a few sad things. Mrs. St. Claire's husband finally passed away after fighting his illness for so long. Then the following week after that my sister Allison finally had her baby, turns out she was pregnant with twins! Both a boy and girl, named after our late father and grandmother._

_Then the most scandalous thing happened! Ms. Abigail Hunter was caught in an affair with none other then Mr. Robert Moore, of course Mrs. Moore is filing for a divorce, but still. Oh John I hope that is not how it will turn out between us. I so do wish you well, and know that I will always love you and never think about another man the same way._

_With all my Love,_

_Mary_

John laughed at the scandalous things that were happening and London, and as he was putting Mary's letter away he looked up to see Holmes just finishing throwing a letter into a fire. John shook his head as he got up to go to his tent and write a reply to mother, father and Mary.

_A/N:_

_Hey everybody! Sorry its taken so long for this upload but my mom banned fanfiction for no reason at all….very strange, but oh well._

_Thank you for all three reviews! Maybe we can get three more (hint hint) and thank you to all those that gave me a story alert, whether it was from favorites or just plain story alert._

_Well I'm going to go, I got some other things to edit before I head on to bed!_

_Love,_

_Savannah_


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock watched the edges of the envelope curl as it burned, glaring at it as if the writer could feel his gaze all the way from London. The only person who would write to him was his elder brother Mycroft, and Sherlock was in no mood to hear what Mycroft had to say. Prone as he was to my dark moods, he could feel them creeping at the corners of his mind, a mix of boredom, with nothing to stimulate his always active mind, and frustration. Looking at the materials around him, Sherlock suddenly smiled. He had enough here to perform an experiment. That would certainly lift his spirits. Sherlock peered around, easily deducing which tent was Watson's and approaching it. Not wanting to intrude, he tapped the canvas, though the material wasn't hard enough for him to actually knock. "Doctor?"

John looked up from the letter he was writing to his parents to the entrance at hearing Holmes voice, John called back, "Yes, come in Holmes."

Hearing Watson speak, Sherlock poked his head into the tent. "Ah, Watson." His eyes flickered to the letters, not able to make out what was actually written, but able to see enough in the envelopes and papers themselves to make a few deductions. "Ah, I am glad to hear that your father's health is improving, though it is unfortunate about your fiancée." Looking back to Watson, he smiled smoothly. "Do you remember your words to me yesterday? When you told me that if there was anything I needed..."

John shook his head, "How you can figure these thing out, I will probably never figure out, and thank you." he looked up at Sherlock nodding his head, "Of course, what is it that you need Holmes, I will stay true to my words." John looked back down at his letter finishing the last few words on it waiting for Holmes to speak.

"It was a mere observation, Doctor. Your father's writing shows signs of wariness, but with an improvement in strength, and your fiancée's the opposite." Sherlock shrugged lightly, the deduction hardly challenging to him. Instead, he focused on the matter he had come here for. "As you are currently the Commanding Officer of this unit, I hoped you might know where I could lay my hands on some chemicals."

John stopped what he was doing snapping his head up at Sherlock, John looked at him, "I am now regretting what I said, and what I am going to ask," He smiled slightly, "But what are the chemicals for? And please do not lie to me Holmes." He set down his pen and waited patiently for what is he am sure to be wonderful answer.

A lie was already dancing on the tip of Sherlock's tongue before Watson told him not to lie to him. Sherlock frowned for an instant before deciding that, if he was going to be here a while, it would be best that we get along, and lying to his face was not the best way to achieve that. "I was hoping to perform an experiment. It has been on my mind for some time, and I believe I can make an extremely effective sedative."

"And pray tell me, who did you plan on experimenting on? I don't know about you, but I don't think any man here will subject himself to that." John smiled up at Holmes knowing that he had to have him there.

Sherlock blinked in surprise at the question, having not considered it, though only because he was quite accustomed to performing experiments on my own. "There is no need to involve any of the other soldiers, Doctor, I am a perfectly willing subject myself."

John almost lost his smile at Sherlock's answer since it surprised him so, he looked into Sherlock's eyes, "Holmes, I don't know if I can let you do that. How do you and I know that this little experiment of yours won't kill you? I can not afford to lose any soldiers at this point in time."

Snorting softly in response, Sherlock entered the tent fully, pulling the canvas closed behind him. "I am intelligent enough to know which chemicals would kill instantly upon entering my bloodstream, Watson, I have made quite a study of it. As for anything else, I am also not so foolish as to give myself a full dosage. However, if it truly puts you at ease, I could have a doctor keep an eye on me," Sherlock sent him a pointed look.

John laughed slightly, "I can not believe the words that are coming out of my mouth, but I agree. Tell me what chemicals you need, for all we know you might make something that could fully help us later on." he answered not missing the pointed look Sherlock sent him. He finished, "Tell me and I'll find them and you can set to work."

Sherlock was delighted, not having fully expected him to agree. He managed to fight back the grin that threatened to break out and instead nodded, stepping in to borrow Watson's pen and a piece of paper. He scribbled down the name of the chemicals he needed. "You are quite the officer, my dear Watson."

John just shook his head when he read the chemicals needed. "I still can't believe I said yes, I must be insane. That or the heat has finally gotten to me," he muttered. Once he was done he looked back up to Sherlock and asked, "Do you have a preference on the time that you get these?" Wondering how the grin has not broken out on his face, "Oh, you can grin like you want, if you wish to."

"Preferably some time before this afternoon. I will have to make some very precise measurements, so I will need daylight." As John mentioned the grin Sherlock had been trying to hold back, he quickly turned his head aside, attempting to hide it and cleared his throat. "I prefer to keep careful control of my emotions."

John nodded holding back a laugh, standing up he replied, "Meet me back here in twenty minutes, I should have them all, is there anything else I need to get for you, or can you get them?" Looking at Sherlock carefully, "Sometimes we all need to lose control of our emotions."

"Very well, Doctor. Thank you. I can gather everything else I need myself." Sherlock's next words made him pause, and he quickly shook his head. "I do not lost control." Stepping out of the tent, he hurried toward his own. Sherlock kept few belongings with him, but he had kept some items for his experimenting. Everything else he could get from the medical and supply tents.

John watched as Sherlock left his tent, wondering what had happened to make him the way he is now, unless for some really weird reason he was born that way, but John just couldn't see that. He finally made his way out of his tent and went on his way to find the chemicals that Sherlock needed. John quickly found all of them and made his way back to his tent, arriving with five minutes to spare, so he decided to clean up a bit so that Holmes would have room to do his work.

Sherlock grabbed his bag, where there were several glass items from his chemistry set carefully wrapped in his extra uniforms. Really, he was not supposed to have them, but Sherlock knew he would go mad if he did not have something to do while here. Sherlock then went to the Medical tent, picking out a few tools and Bunsen burner, and finally to the supply tent to pick up the last of what he needed. Returning to Watson's tent, he entered, carefully setting the gathered items down on the doctor's cot. "Did you manage to find everything?"

John looked up at Holmes who was laying things down on John's cot and he just nodded towards the other table in his tent where all the chemicals lay. And John went back to writing my letter to Mary.

_Things have been hectic around here, but I think that you of all people would enjoy it. Just yesterday the new shipment of troops arrived, and one of them is a very smart man, he even saved my life. I do wish that I could be back in London so that we could marry, sometimes I wish that I did not join the military so that we could of married already. Then I would not be so far away from you for so long. As always I can not wait until your next letter._

_Love John_

For a while, Sherlock fixed his attention on setting up everything, using the table that had been cleared. He carefully rebuilt a basic chemistry set before glancing over my soldier to see Watson writing a letter, presumably to his fiancée, as he'd already written to his parents. Irritation tugged at the corners of Sherlock's mind, but he pushed it back. Of course John was going to write to his fiancée, and Sherlock had no right to stop him. Why did it annoy him, anyway? Shaking his head, he looked back at he work. "When did you meet her?" Sherlock asked, holding one of the chemicals up to the light.

John looked up surprised, "Excuse me?"

"Your fiancée." Sherlock lit the burner, setting a glass over it to begin mixing his chemicals. "When did you meet her? I would guess something close to a few months ago - had it been any longer, I imagine you would already be married, as while you do not seem the type to rush into an important decision, you certainly seem the type to fall victim to romantic twaddle. I am incorrect on occasion, though."

John was surprised that Holmes was asking this question. John shook his head, "No I have know Marry for many years, but five years ago she moved to America, and just came back last year after being widowed before her marriage. That is the main reason she doesn't like me in the military, but she is proud of me."

"Hm." Sherlock could not imagine why anyone should want to marry and tie themselves down to some domestic life, but then, he did not share the same view as most of his country. "Well, I suppose that is all you could ask for." Leaning close to his work, he carefully mixed his chemicals, watching the colors change.

John nodded, "Mary is a wonderful women, but what about you Holmes? Do you have anyone special in your life?" He asked just being nosey.

As Watson asked about 'anyone special,' Sherlock nearly knocked down his work, but quickly saved it, grimacing in distaste. "Hardly," he scoffed. "Women are never to be trusted-not the best of them. They are volatile creatures, just waiting to turn every situation to their advantage, and covering it with a bat of their eyelashes."

John looked over his shoulder at Sherlock, seeing how he quickly saved his work after knocking it down, all because John asked him if he had anyone special. "You know it doesn't even have to be a women, it could be a family member, friend or pet that is that special someone."

Again, Sherlock scoffed, feeling particularly bitter when he mentioned family. "No. There is no one."

John nodded turning back to the paper work on his desk, "Of course there isn't, at least yet."

Sherlock frowned, glancing over his shoulder at John. His words unsettled him more than they should. "I seriously doubt that, Doctor. I am a difficult man to get along with." Looking back at his experiment, Sherlock turned the burner down, allowing the chemicals a few minutes to simmer.

John nodded. "Of course Holmes, just forget I even said that, now if you will excuse me I need to finish up this paperwork and if you will let me know when you are ready for my help." He then turned back to his paperwork and started furiously working on them so they would be done before night fell.

"Of course." Sherlock turned his own attention completely to his work. It took nearly an hour for him to properly mix the chemicals into what he needed. Sherlock took the vial, sniffing the mixture to ensure his self that he had not missed anything, able to pick out each ingredient from only the smell. "Well Doctor, are you ready to keep watch?" Sherlock asked, picking up a syringe and filling it with his new mixture.

John turned around in his chair and said, "Whenever you are Holmes, I am here to watch." He watched as Sherlock sniffed the vial, making sure he didn't miss any indregrients.

"Excellent." Sherlock shrugged off his coat and rolled up his sleeve to once again reveal the scatter of puncture wounds. "Now, while you are doing so, I would appreciate if you kept note of any side-affects. If it is not effective as a sedative, I may be able to make use of it somewhere else." He smirked faintly. "Bottoms up, Doctor." Sherlock pierced the skin of his arm and pushed the piston of the syringe in, flooding his bloodstream with it.

John grabbed a pencil and pad of paper and watched as Sherlock injected his self with what John hoped would work as a sedative. John wrote down the date and what Sherlock used to make it, then sat waiting to make the next observation.

Sherlock closed his eyes, carefully cataloging his own reactions in his mind. He could feel the drowsiness moving over him, and he was forced to shift onto the floor, sitting for fear of falling over. His mind spun in a way that reminded him of the morphine, though not enough to knock him out, just as he had made sure, giving his self too little to have such an effect. For the first half hour, all seemed to be going well, but soon, he felt the sweat breaking out and shudders traveling through his body. He gasped softly, pain crawling up his body, starting first from the injection point. Strangely enough, he did not worry about his own health as much as he worried that the experiment was clearly a failure. He had done worse things to his self, and was sure he would be fine once the drug washed out of my system.

John watched silently for the first half-hour, and all seemed to be going fine, but then Holmes started breaking out in a sweat and shuddering. He immediately went to Sherlock, kneeling down beside him on the floor, asking him, "What are you feeling right now?" Worried that something horrible has happened.

With the drug in my veins, Sherlock had almost forgotten that Watson was there, so when he kneeled beside him, it startled Sherlock's currently sluggish mind. He grunted softly, instincts telling him to reach out, and grab hold of his sleeve. "Pain," Sherlock gasped. "Must not have used enough..." he gritted my teeth at one particularly sharp wave of pain, "Benzaldehyde. You can mark... mark this one as a failure."

John shook his head, "You are not trying any other experiments today. You are going to rest and not move a single bloody muscle." Removing Sherlock's hand from his sleeve John "picked" him up and laid him down on his cot. "Rest," John said, "Just tell me what you need and I'll help you get it."

When he picked Sherlock up, he tensed up in alarm, not even his drug-fogged mind able to rid him of those old instincts that warned him against an attack. However, John only set him in the cot, and Sherlock stared up at him, trying to formulate some sort of response. Pushing his self up only his elbows, he shook his head, shuddering again. "There is still plenty of daylight - I could surely try at least one more dose before it becomes dangerous."

John stood firmly to what he said, "No, you will not, I am your commanding officer and you will listen to me. No more doses, you don't know what will happen. I may be a doctor Holmes, but I am not a miracle worker. I don't want to see you die, your to fine a soldier."

Sherlock laughed sharply at John's words before quickly stopping the sound, regaining control over his emotions again. "Forgive me if I do not take that as a compliment, Doctor." Sherlock did not care if he was a good soldier or not. He simply wanted to return to London and continue my work.

John smiled at the lose of control in Sherlock's emotions, "Later, just rest for a little while. In a couple of hours after you get something to eat you can try again, but for now, please just rest." He looked down at Sherlock, standing to his full height, "I will be back in a few minutes, don't move." John then went to exit the tent and went around camp to make sure that all the soldiers were still alive and doing there jobs.

_A/N:_

_I am sooooooooooo sorry it has taken me so damn long to get this up! I really hope you all don't hate me, but I got into some pretty big trouble with my parents….only a year and a half until I'm free! Then hopefully I'll never leave any of you hanging this long again. I'm making this chapter dedicated to the lovely 80icrazy80 for her review, and just for you, I'm going to get right to work on the next chapter!_

_Also if any of you can give me some good guy advice I would really appreciate it!Lots of Love, _

_Savannah_


	4. Chapter 4

As John walked out, it crossed Sherlock's mind to ignore his orders, to simply walk out of that tent and back to his own, but another wave of pain hit him and Sherlock groaned, closing his eyes. There was little point in stirring up trouble, so he decided to simply obey. Instead, he took the time to looked around at the sparse belongings in Watson's tent, spotting an old photograph on the little table beside the cot. Sherlock picked it up, staring at the young woman that smiled back. "You must be Mary," he thought dryly. Even from the photo he could tell she was a governess, and modest, though not at all weak as many women in our day and age are.

John finally made it to his last stop, the medical tent, telling a lesser doctor that if he was needed by any of the men they could find John in his tent. When he was done talking to the doctor John made his way back to his tent. When he walked in he saw Holmes holding a picture, "That's Mary, if you were wondering." John told Sherlock.

"Yes, I figured as much," Sherlock answered, looking up at John. "She is lovely. You must be proud." They were empty comments, those Sherlock know that others would make, that he cared little about.

John laughed, "You don't have to act for me. I can tell that your not the type of man that cares for that type of thing. It doesn't bother me, think what you wish to think, just don't always tell me what it is."

Sherlock couldn't resist smiling slightly, Watson surprising him again. "I appreciate that, Watson. Social niceties can be quite trying."

John smiled looking at him, "Sadly I couldn't agree any more, but I just deal with it. I only have to deal with it when I'm around Mary, but I love her so I deal with it."

Sherlock grimaced at his words. Always love with the doctor. John was so taken with this girl, and he could not understand it in the least. "So sentimental, Watson. Do be careful, or your romanticism will be the death of you."

John sat down in his chair looking at Holmes trying not to smile, "Why Holmes, what is that tone I detect? Is it jealousy or something else?" He joked, "Are you sad you don't have someone in your life?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John's joking, trying to ignore the part of his mind that pointed out that he had been acting like a jealous teenager. "Do keep your tasteless jokes to yourself, Watson. Love is only a motive, I've no intention of ever letting it into my life. You'd be amazed the amount of crimes committed due to love."

John nodded turning to his desk, signing the papers that were just laying there, "I am sorry if I have offended you Holmes, please do forgive me, I will not make jokes like that again if it pleases you."

Sherlock frowned, shaking his head. "I am merely not fond of the subject of love. There are much more interesting things to discuss." He peered around, his frown deepening. "Although none of which are here, I am afraid."

John then added sarcastily, "Of course, what could be more exciting then almost dying just about every single day?" He shook his head, "But enough of my talk, what about you Holmes? What are the dirty little secrets of your life?"

Sherlock smiled wryly at John's words, shaking his head. "There is nothing more exciting than a puzzle, Watson. I am a detective. Or at least, I was, until I ran out of funds."

"A detective eh? Solve any good cases?" John asked partly out of boredom and partly out of the reason that he actually wanted to get to know this man, get closer to him.

Sherlock pursed his lips at the question, furrowing his brows. "I believe our definition of 'good' differs in that aspect. I've solved many intriguing little problems, but the police are unwilling to admit when they need help, and so unwilling to take my advice, leaving a great deal of more public cases - those YOU would likely describe as 'good' - unsolved."

John nodded, "Well I think I am going to go and get me some food, and while I am eating I will think about letting you do another experiment." He then stood up and started to walk towards the entrance of the tent, "Do you want anything," he asked before leaving.

Well, at least John was considering allowing Sherlock to experiment again. "No, thank you, I am not hungry," he answered, despite having only had a bit of toast for breakfast. He could get like this when his moods overtook him, not eating for days at a time, but he always kept his self sharp. "Although if you could find a cigarette or a pipe, I would be extremely grateful."

John turned around to face Sherlock, "I will get a pipe for you, but if you don't eat then I won't let you experiment, simple as that. You have to have something in your system, even if it is a roll or something, then I would feel better."

Sherlock immediately sat up, though he regretted the action when a shudder passed through him "You cannot be serious!" Sherlock protested, ignoring the fact that he sounded like a child. "Commanding officer or not, Doctor, I do not need to be mothered - I will eat when I am ready!"

John hid the growing smirk on his face, "Alright then your not going to experiment tonight, you can wait until tomorrow." John then walked out of his tent and started on his way to the mess tent.

John could not mean it. Surely, he was bluffing. Yet, when he walked out of the tent, Sherlock knew he was not. Biting back a grown, Sherlock fell back down onto the cot, glaring at the canvas ceiling. No one had ever treated him in this manner, not even his own parents. Why should John care if he ate or not? Sherlock knew his limits, and he knew just how much he needed to stay strong enough in battle; he had made it this far, hadn't he?

When John was well enough away from the tent he let the smirk onto his face, but then it dropped as he thought to his self, 'Why should I care if this man eats or not? As he said, I am not his mother.' John shook his head, he feels like he is treating Sherlock as John treats Mary, well no more. John quickly grabbed a plate, sat down and ate it, listening to the men talk, not taking part in any of the conservations, letting his thoughts and emotions run over him, which many of the men found strange since he was always active in the conservations. When John finished he took his plate up and grabbed an apple and went back to his tent. He reached his tent and just stood there for a moment gathering his self.

Sherlock knew Watson would be gone for a little while, so he looked around for something to entertain his self with. He eyed the revolver sitting nearby, but decided against practicing his aim, as these walls were not thick enough to stop the bullets, and he did not want to injure someone. Finding nothing of real interest - at least, nothing that wouldn't make him extremely nosy - he pulled the blanket over his head like a sulking child.

Finally John walked into his tent quietly, in case Holmes was sleeping and sure enough he was laying on the cot with the blanket pulled over his head like a sulking child. John just shook his head and quietly laughed as he sat the apple down and gathered a few things for him to do tomorrow when one of the soldiers would take the mail into town if we wanted to send any letters. John filled out the envelopes for Mary and one for his parents. Before sealing them and setting them down, he then sat down at my desk enjoying the silence of camp.

Sherlock listened closely as Watson entered, counting his steps and able to track where he was by ear alone. "You intent to hold to your words?" Sherlock asked. "I can go for two more days without food before it begins to affect my strength and judgment."

John looked over to Holmes, "Yes I do intend to hold true to my words, but if you eat then you can experiment all you want. I am a doctor, and right now you would be my patient."

Sherlock poked his head out from under the blanket, watching John, before reluctantly reaching out for the apple he'd set aside. If eating the thing would allow Sherlock his experiments, then he would eat it. It was a small price to pay to alleviate his boredom.

John smirked as Sherlock grabbed the apple and reluctantly started eating it. He nodded his head towards Sherlock and the apple, "When your done eating that you can have your fun, just let me know when you need me." John then leaned back in his chair hoping to take a little nap before Sherlock needed him.

Sherlock waved John off, still irritated, but he would doubtlessly take John up on that offer later. Sherlock finished the apple off quickly enough before moving from the cot, making sure he was steady on his feet. He moved back to the makeshift chemistry set, setting back to work while Watson napped.

John smiled, glad that he could take a quick nap while Sherlock worked, and thankfully he was asleep with in seconds.

Sherlock carefully mixed ingredients, watching the chemicals with a precise eye. Knowing his mixture, he did not take as long this time. Sherlock eyed the substance in the little glass tube, deciding that he must have it right this time. Filling the syringe, he stood, crossing to Watson to shake him awake. "Watson," Sherlock urged, "I have the next mixture."

"Watson," John heard Holmes say, urging him awake, "I have the next mixture." John opened his eyes to see Sherlock standing above him holding a syringe. John sat up and nodded, "Alright, sit on the bed and you can start." He then grabbed his pencil and pad of paper so could watch and observe.

John's response caused Sherlock to smile slightly, and he nodded, moving to sit at the edge of the cot. Once again he rolled up his sleeve, using his opposite arm this time, so that my other one would not be too tender, having already received injections of cocaine and one of his experimental drugs. "Let us see if I got it right this time..." Once again, Sherlock slid the needle under the skin and pushed. The flow of drugs was easy, offering a cool rush to my blood, and not long afterward, he felt the lull of the sedative taking over, easing his muscles.

John watched as Holmes slid the needle into his opposite arm and injected this experiment into him. John smiled as the flow of sedates washed over Sherlock, any moron could tell he's been sedated, John wrote all of this down and continued to watch.

In the back of Sherlock's mind, he counted, but even now, he could feel the mixture taking over, threatening to send him to sleep, though he'd made sure the dose was not enough to actually do so. He tested the movements of my hands, each a little sluggish as the calm settled over him. After the first half hour, the effects remained the same, and he smiled in triumph. Still, "Get a knife, Watson," Sherlock ordered somewhat distantly. "The drug's useless if I can still feel pain."

John watched for a half of an hour as Holmes moved his hands sluggishly every so often, then out of nowhere Sherlock ordered John to get a knife. Telling John that this drug was useless unless he could feel pain, sadly John knew he was right. So he got up and pulled a small blade out of his boot, holding it in his hand John asked, "Do you want to do it or me to do it?"

"My movements are too inhibited, you must do it" Sherlock answered, offering a hand to him, as they were the most sensitive, and would offer the best indication as to whether or not my body had been numbed against the pain.

John sighed, "That's what I figured." He grabbed the hand that Sherlock held out for him and slowly cut the palm of it, looking to him John asked, "Do you feel any pain at all?"

Sherlock watched the blood rise to the surface, his mind noting that he SHOULD be in pain, but the nerves not sending the signal to the rest of his body. Sherlock flexed his fingers and, with his thoughts still muddled with the sedative, he could not fight back a grin. "I believe we can call this one a success, Doctor. I feel nothing at all."

John smiled slightly, "Wonderful, now I'm cleaning it." He put down his blade and put down Sherlock's hand so he could grab the things to clean it with. Taking a rag John wiped off what blood he could before pouring some of the rubbing alcohol on it, wiping more blood off he then started to bandage it, being careful, and gentle even though Sherlock was sedated.

Sherlock could not rightly protest that John leave the wound, so he simply nodded. Besides, the last thing he wanted to die of out there was an infection, shuddering at the thought. "I dare say we might want to try this out on a patient. I know sedatives are scarce in a time of war. If we could simply mix it, your soldiers will have a much easier time, Watson."

John nodded, trying not to laugh because you could tell that Sherlock wanted to protest, but was in no right mind to do so. Replying, "Well I will check later on to see if there is a patient that needs it. Does that satisfy you?"

Sherlock had not expected John to agree, and smiled widely when he did. He was truly beginning to take a liking to John Watson, despite his mothering and his sentimentalism. It was rare to meet a man that showed intelligence, and even more so to meet one that showed his compassion. Flexing his bandaged hand, Sherlock nodded. "Very much so, Watson." He moved to lie down, knowing it was not his cot, but not caring. "Now if you've no protests, these drugs are making me extremely tired."

John shook his head, "None at all, now get some rest, I will check up on you in a few, to make sure you haven't died or anything." He then walked out of the tent smiling ready for anything that came his way.

Smiling at his words, Sherlock curled up on his side, pulling the blankets up around him. Only officers were given cots, as it was too expensive to supply each soldier with one, and it was much more comfortable than the thin pad on the ground he had become accustomed to since leaving London. It was too bad he would likely not be able to do this often because he fell asleep in only minutes, content in that narrow bed.

John went on another thing of rounds before finally stopping at the medical tent after everything else turned out fine. He relieved the doctor there and sat down in a chair watching all of the patients sleep. John got up and grabbed a book and started to read it out of complete and udder boredom.

Sherlock slept for longer than he had intended, though that is to be expected with sedatives running through the body. When he did wake up, it was to the sound of gunfire. Immediately, he shot up from the cot, dropping down onto the ground to take cover. Another attack? So soon. Frustrated, he reached for his pistol. At least there was no cannon this time.

All of a sudden all John could hear gunfire, sitting up in the chair rubbing sleep out of his eye. "Shit," he mumbled grabbing his gun he ran outside the tent into a lesser, much lesser doctor, "Stay with these men, and protect them!" was all John yelled at him before running off to tell the orders. Before he could get far though he was hit upside the head making him fall into darkness.

Sherlock scrambled out of the tent in time to see Watson hit over the head. Immediately, anger flared up inside of him and Sherlock pointed his pistol at John's attacker, about to pull the trigger when he detected a movement beside him. Sherlock tried to step away, but was too late, a sharp pain in his head the only indication that he'd been hit before Sherlock too blacked out.

Sherlock's head was pounding when he first began to stir again, though he didn't open my eyes. Instead, he expanded his other senses, knowing that if he could observe without being observed, he would have the upper hand. Strangely enough, it was not the first time he had been knocked out, and he recognized the signs, his hands bound behind his back with rope. The room was cold and a little damp, scents of mud and mold in the air. Sherlock was on the ground, his face pressed against room was small, he would guess, but he could hear the muffled sound of footsteps just outside of it. Listening carefully for breathing, he found only one other body in the room, and after managing to sort out his thoughts, he realized it must be Watson. Slowly, Sherlock opened his eyes, blinking blearily and sitting up. Indeed, the room was small, about nine feet by ten, and another ten in height - his throbbing head quickly calculated 900 cubic feet of air, minus the room that the sparse bits of furniture: a cot, a desk, and an old chair - with a few gas lamps bolted to the walls. There was one small, barred window letting light into the concrete prison, and a solid door connecting us to what was likely the rest of the shabby old building. Attempting to straighten his vision, he scooted closer to Watson, nudging him with his knee, though trying to be quiet, so as not to draw attention to ourselves. "Watson," Sherlock whispered. "Wake up."

"Watson, wake up," John heard Holmes say making his head throb even more then it already was. John slowly opened one eye, then the other taking in his surroundings, he saw a cot, desk, and an old chair, and only one window, tiny and barred along with a solid door. He looked to Holmes and whispered so he wouldn't draw attention to ourselves, "What happened? Do you know anything?"

Licking his dry lips, Sherlock peered around again, working his hands inside the rope and feeling it rub against his wrists. Upon first waking up, he knew nothing, but with some time to observe, he was able to make deductions. "When we were attacked, we were knocked out, likely by the butt of a gun, and taken here. There are three men outside, presumably our captors." Sherlock managed to get to his feet without the use of his hands, peering out the barred window, surprised to see the sun was rising, not setting. We'd been out through the night. "We are not in a town. More likely a camp."

John nodded listening to every little thing that Holmes just said, he struggled to get up, but eventually made it up with no help. John looked out the window, "Wonderful, we've been out all night." He looked over to Holmes, "So, do you have a plan, because you always seem to surprise me."

As John asked Sherlock for a plan, he smiled wryly, wondering when John had grown to trust him so much. "Perhaps," Sherlock answered, peering out the window still. There were no signs of a guard out there, but he knew better than to believe we were not being watched. He turned, sliding down the wall onto his back and closing his eyes. "Our captors have likely been checking every hour or so to see if we are conscious." With a deep sigh, Sherlock looked at Watson gravely. "How do you believe you would fare against torture?" Prisoners of war were often subjected to it for information.

John stayed standing up at the window for a few moments longer before facing Holmes nodding his head, "I know all to well about torture Holmes."

Sherlock nodded, glad that he was at least aware of what may or may not happen. He strained his wrists against the ropes, but it didn't seem like he would be escaping them any time soon. "I do not know how long it was since they last checked on us... but I need at least half an hour to think. Do not speak to me during that time, and I will have an escape plan."

John nodded sitting back down on the ground, "Take all the bloody time you need." He then tried to get out of his ropes, but they were bound far to tightly for him to get out of.

Sherlock closed his eyes, tilting his head back so that it rested against the concrete wall. He wished he had a pipe to smoke, to help him think, but Sherlock knew he would have no such luck here. Still, he set his mind to work. Unfortunately, he did not get my half hour, as ten minutes in, a loud click signified that the door had been open, and a dark-skinned soldier, dressed in an enemy uniform, stepped inside with a pair of."Ah, you are awake," he hummed, accent thick. "How did you gentlemen sleep?"

_A/N:_

_YES CLIFFHANGER :D muhahahahahahaha lol enjoy lots of those babies coming up ;D_

_Here is chapter four my darlings….and just so you all know I REALLY want to kill my keyboard…the spacebar is all messed up -.- oh well! Please review :D Happy New Year! Sorry its taken longer then I thought…please don't hate meLots of love,_

_Savannah_


	5. Chapter 5

John lost track of time after Holmes started to think, but after some time the door opened and John threw his head up. A dark skinned soldier dressed in what was an enemy uniform walked in and said, with a thick accent, "Ah, you are awake. How did you gentlemen sleep?" John opened his mouth to retort, but bit his tongue because he knew all to well what would happen to him, and most likely Holmes also.

Sherlock looked up, gritting my teeth. Unlike Watson, he did not keep silent, refusing to be intimidated. He stood to face the man. "Oh, well enough, considering." Sherlock's eyes flickered over him and he smirked. "How are your children? Your wife just gave birth to another one, didn't she?"

The soldier's eyes widened a fraction and he growled, grip tightening on his gun. "Clever aren't you?" He looked back at the pair of guards with him, gesturing to us. "Grab them and tie them to the chairs."

John shook his head as he forced up and out of the room, blindfolded and taken somewhere and finally put into a chair, where he was tied down by one of the guards. John looked up to the first man, "I hope you go to the deepest pit of hell where you burn for all eternity."

Sherlock did not bother to struggle as he too was dragged with Watson and tied down to his left. When the blindfold was removed, Sherlock took the time to glance about, searching for some sort of tool. The soldier smirked, patting Watson's cheek, and Sherlock fought the urge to growl lowly. "It is you white men who will burn. Now, you will tell us what you know about your military."

John spat in the man's face, "Torture me all you like, you honestly think that as a commanding officer I haven't been tortured before?"

The man snarled, striking Watson across the face, and sharp anger jumped up in Sherlock's chest. Narrowing his eyes, he spoke again, calmly, "Now, now, Watson. There's no reason we can't cooperate." Sherlock turned his eyes to John, silently asking him to trust Sherlock. He would not truly give away any information, but he had a plan in the making.

The man snarled before hitting John across the face, his head moving with the strike. John heard Holmes say, "Now, now Watson. There's no reason we can't cooperate." John looked at Sherlock with his eyes and read the message in them, "I have a plan." He turned back to the man putting on a fake smile, "Of course, we are after all English men, why don't we talk more reasonably."

The soldier eyed the pair of us suspiciously. He turned to Sherlock, gripping his jaw tightly. "You are going to talk, then?" Smiling pleasantly, Sherlock shrugged. "Perhaps. However, I am not foolish enough to believe that you will let us live, even if we speak. I simply want the chance to write a letter.""I will not-""You are afraid we will give our location?" Sherlock snorted dubiously. "We were knocked out, we have no idea where we are. What will we tell?"

John nodded, "Really gents, we've either been blindfolded or knocked out the entire time, expect when we were locked in the room. We can't tell them any location what so ever. Besides, one letter won't kill you."

The soldier glanced back at his goons before seeming to decide. "Very well. You may write your letter. But do not try anything clever.""Of course not." Sherlock shrugged, wriggling in his bonds a little. "Give us time to write the letter - naturally, you will review it to ensure that we give nothing away - and then we can speak. That is all we ask.""Take them back." Sherlock sighed as we were blindfolded again and dragged back to our cell.

We were then again blindfolded and dragged back to our cell. Once we were back at our cell we were basically thrown in after being unblindfolded, John looked to Holmes, wondering what in the hell could he be thinking.

Sherlock glanced at Watson, catching the look he was giving Sherlock and smiling. He was shoved down again by one of the goons, held while the ropes were cut from his wrists, allowing him some minor freedom. "You have four hours to write you letter," one of the men hissed, setting paper and a pen on the desk."Thank you gentlemen, that will be all we need."

Once the men was gone John went to Holmes held out his hands to Sherlock, "Do you think you can untie them for me? I would greatly appreciate it."

"Of course." Sherlock dug my fingers under the knot, tugging it loose for John so that the ropes fell to the ground. "Now, let's get started, shall we?" Sherlock took up the pen they'd brought us, holding back his grin as he approached the dirty old cot. He stabbed the pen into it, yanking so that he created a large tear. Immediately, stuffing fell from it, but he dug past it, pulling out, with some difficulty, one of the sturdy metal springs. Sherlock tossed it to Watson. "Straighten it out the best you can." It was crude, but they were sharp enough to be used as weapons.

John smiled as he started his task, "I knew that there was a reason that I liked you Holmes." It took a few moments but he straightened it out surprisingly well. I held it out to Holmes, "What next?"

As Watson straightened out the spring, Sherlock did the same with one of his own, storing the sharp piece of metal in his uniform for later use. "There are four lamps. One of them ran out of gas some time back, and they haven't had time to pick up more, so they switched to coal. Break it open and bring the coal here." He began tearing two wide strips of material of the cot, ensuring that there was enough of it.

John saw that Sherlock tucked away the spring that he was working on, so he did also. John then went and grabbed the lamp and broke it open, praying to God that no one heard it. He scooped up all of the coal and carried it over to Holmes, asking him, "Where do you want me to put it?"

"Divide it between the cloths," Sherlock ordered, spreading them out on the ground. He reached for the flask attached to his belt, glad that they had clearly not found it to be a threat. "When the guards come to get us, we will attack and, once we handle them, I want you to break open every gas lamp you see. The gas will poison any other soldiers we face - we, meanwhile, will be wearing these cloths as masks. The coal will soak up the poisonous gasses, preventing it from killing us as well."

John shook his head a slight smirk growing on his face, "How you know things like this I truly wonder." John then did as Sherlock asked and divided the coal between the clothes then once he was done he stepped back just slightly. Ready for the next task.

Sherlock soaked the coal, pressing it down into the cloth and carefully folding them into usable masks. He glanced up at Watson and smiled. "It is my business to know, my dear Watson. With our work done for now, I sat, rubbing my wrists, which were a bit raw from the rope. "Now we wait."

John sat down beside Sherlock, sighing, "Being a prisoner of war is never something a military man should be, especially twice."

Sherlock had heard John mention being tortured before, but I did not realize exactly what that meant before now. "What happened the first time?" Sherlock asked with some hesitance.

After John said what he did Holmes said with some hesitance, "What happened the first time?" John looked at Sherlock, "It was the beginning of the Afghan war, I had just become a commanding officer, I was in a small regiment. The entire day it seemed far to quite, and that night we figured out why, we were attacked in the middle of the night. Partway through the battle I was knocked out with the butt of a gun, when I awoke I was in a room similar to this. There was three other men with me, men of your position," He nodded towards Holmes. Continuing, "One by one, a week, they were taken out of the room, until it was just me left. They were killed, I know because I heard the gunshots just out of this room."

John took a deep breath, calming his nerves, then continued, "Once it was just me, after a few more days they took me out of the room, blindfolded and into another room where they tied me to a chair. I had heard stories from men about being a prisoner of war, but hearing stories is nothing like actually being one. They then brought in a man whom I had trusted but turns out he was a double agent, gave me to them because I was a commanding officer. They tortured me for every piece of information I could give them, but I gave them all false information. They finally realized that I would give them nothing real so they decided to take me into the middle of the jungle and kill me when it was light. But they got a surprise that night, our men stormed them in the night, rescuing me and some others. After a year at home I decided to reenter the military, and now here we are."

Sherlock listened intently to John's words, crossing his legs beneath him as he imagined the image in his head. All of that, and yet here he was again? "Why?" Sherlock asked. "Why would you return here after all of that when you could be back in London, married with that ideal little life of yours?"

John laughed shortly, "I am a military man, I like serving for my country. Also its just-" he stopped not knowing what to say.

Sherlock smiled wryly. "You like it?" he asked, not so much guessing as piecing together John's personality. "The excitement. The danger." Forget fighting for one's country, the only reason someone would come again after torture was if they enjoyed it somehow.

John looked at Holmes out of the corner of his eye, "Yes, that would be it. In London there's no excitement or danger. I can only find that over here, while I'm fighting in the war."

"You would be amazed, the type of excitement you can find in London," Sherlock told John, chuckling softly. London was his city. Sherlock knew her inside and out, her dangers and virtues... he paused again, not one to speak much about his own life, but it was possible we were going to die here anyway. He might as well talk to someone."I can understand that, though, needing the excitement. I always need SOMETHING - a challenge. When I get bored, I get, shall we say, down in the dumps. I won't speak for days, every moment I feel like I will go insane, trapped in a... darkness, if that makes sense." Sherlock shook his head. "I hate being in war - it is pointless to me. But I would rather be here, fighting for my life, than working some mundane job because at least then I'm not bored."

John laughed, "We must be talking about a different London, to me London is nothing but gossip and scandals, the things for women. But here, the thrill of not knowing whether you will live or die, to me that is excitement."

Sherlock smiled at John's laugh, feeling a sudden warmth in his chest. "If we both make it out of this war alive, remind me to show you my London. I think you'd like it." A sharp click drew his attention, and he jumped to his feet, reaching for the spring that he had uncoiled, preparing his self for a fight.

When Sherlock offered to show John his London John felt his heart flutter in his chest, but that flutter went away when he heard a sharp click and Holmes jump to his feet grabbing his spring. John jumped up also, grabbing his spring and looked to toward Holmes, "On your command," John smiled.

"On your command," John said, and Sherlock couldn't help grinning in return, letting his emotions slip for a moment. What had Sherlock done to make John trust him so much? Whatever it was, he was glad for it. "Now," he ordered as the door flew open, and he rushed forward before the guards could think to ready their weapons, striking ruthlessly with his little piece of metal. The sharp end jabbed into the guard's neck, silencing any cry he might have given. The other, meanwhile, scrambled to aim his gun at us.

Seeing the other man scrambling to raise his gun at us after Holmes stabbed the other man in the neck, John attacked, also stabbing him in the neck with his piece of metal, drooping his body John looked to Holmes.

Sherlock paused, ensuring that both were dead, before nodding to his self. "Grab your mask and put it on," he ordered, reaching for his own and securing it around his face. He then knelt down, taking one of the guard's guns, as well as his keys, in case we should run into any locked doors. "It will take approximately two minutes for the place to fill up with the gas - be careful. This will all be pointless if you get yourself shot before then."

John nodded securing his mask to his face grabbing the other guards' keys and gun, "Just don't you get shot. I can avoid bullets well enough."

"Don't worry about me," Sherlock answered, nodding. He crept out of the room, peering down the halls. So far, no one was patrolling. Using the butt of his gun, he smashed one of the lamps on the wall, causing a soft hiss as gas began to pour from it. He moved on to the next, methodically going through them. A couple of the lamps had been switched to coal, but mostly they worked for our plan.

John followed Holmes, surprised that the halls were so empty. He followed Holmes' lead and smashed all of the gas lamps that he saw.

"Hey!" Sherlock heard the voice of the soldier that had spoken to us when we were tied to the chairs and turned to face him. Luckily, before he could shoot, he began to gasp for air, his lungs filling with the poisonous gas. Seeing our chance, he grabbed Watson's hand."Quickly, now's our chance!" Sherlock began to run for the nearest door.

John followed after Holmes as he grabbed John by the hand after the one solider that had us tied to the chairs began to choke on the poisonous gas quickly filling the air. Before we could get to far John felt his mask slip and as it slipped he tripped landing hard on the floor, the gas starting to fill my lungs. Looking up at Holmes John cried out, "Go, leave me." Then there was darkness.

Sherlock heard Watson fall and gasp, and he whirled around his eyes he liked to keep his emotions to his self, he was not so heartless. Sherlock ducked down, hefting John up into his arms, scrambling to get out. John was heavy in Sherlock's arms, but Sherlock did not let him go. He shouldered his way through the door, bursting out into the fresh air. Sherlock ran from the building into the open heat, collapsing to his knees after he had managed to put a few yards between his self and the prison."Watson? Watson!" Sherlock pressed his ear to John's chest, listening for a heartbeat.

John heard in the distance a voice calling his name, coughing he opened his eyes, John saw it was Holmes. He got his breath back breathing in the fresh clean air.

Seeing Watson's eyes open, Sherlock felt a profound sense of relief. He reached out, patting John on the back to help rid his body of the poisonous air. "You scared the life out of me, Watson."

John coughed one last time, looking up at him slowly sitting up, "You should of left me. But I am glad that you did not. Thank you for once again saving my life."

Sherlock smiled at him, shrugging as he rested his hand on John's shoulder. "No need to thank me," he responded warmly, so glad that he was alive. Sherlock did not think he would be able to tolerate the war without John. "You would not have left me."

John smiled back at Sherlock, "We need to get moving, I personally don't want to almost die again." He then started to stand up but his legs were still a little wobbly so John stumbled in Holmes.

As Watson stumbled into Sherlock, he immediately reached out to support him, taking John's arm around his shoulders so that John could lean into Sherlock. "We'll walk for a bit, but you're going to need rest soon."

John nodded, no way in shape to argue with him. "I'm sorry," he said after they had gone a ways.

Sherlock smiled wryly. "Sorry? Why?" he asked, unable to find any reason why John should be.

John laughed, "For getting us into this mess, if I had secured my mask on more tightly then we wouldn't be like we are now."

"Perhaps," Sherlock agreed, "but most officers in your position would now have even listened to my plan, and if that were the case, we would still be locked up, and likely still being tortured."

"Well that makes me feel slightly better Holmes," John replied, "So what are we to do now?"

Sherlock looked at the sky, which was now growing dark. "We should set up a fire. We'll just get lost if we continue now."

John nodded, "You can let go of me and I can help find some firewood for the fire."

When Watson mentioned Sherlock still holding on to John, he suddenly blushed, looking away. "Yes, of course." Sherlock released John carefully and stepped away to look for wood.

As Holmes moved away John caught the slight blush on his cheeks, but shook the thought of it away as the heat affecting him. John slowly made his around the small area they were in and gathered some firewood before returning to were they stopped.

Sherlock collected what wood he could, meeting back with Watson and beginning to set up a pit for the fire. For all the heat in the day time, he had already learned that the nights in Afghanistan could be freezing if a cold-front hit, and he would much rather have the warmth. "We should take turns keeping watch. The fire might draw attention to us."

John watched as Holmes made a fire and suggested we take turns keeping watch. Getting up John said, "I'll take first watch, you go ahead and get some rest."

Sherlock frowned, wanting to protest, as he was the one that had been injured, but Sherlock also knew that, because he'd breathed in the gas, it was probably smarter that he stay awake for now anyway. Sherlock would rest for a couple hours, then, and then take over. "Alright. Wake me in a couple hours, then."

John nodded, having no intentions to wake him up, Sherlock needed rest far more then John did. "Of course in three hours time I will wake you for your watch. That sound good Holmes?"

Sherlock nodded in agreement, though he eyed John suspiciously, hoping he meant it, and wasn't lying. Sherlock shrugged off his coat, bunching it up as a pillow as he moved to lie down. "Do not try to stay up all night, Watson. You need your rest."

John nodded and watched Holmes as he drifted off to sleep, for some reason feeling contempt with watching him drift off slowly. When he was sure Sherlock was asleep John took off his coat and shirt looking at the small wound on his side. He knew he couldn't do much about it so he just redid the bandages and kept watch until it was a few hours from light he decided that he should wake Holmes up so he would be ready to leave soon enough.

Going over to Holmes John started to lightly shake him, "Holmes, Holmes. It is time for your watch." knowing that Sherlock would probably yell at John for waking him so late.

"Holmes, Holmes. It is time for your watch."Sherlock's eyes fluttered open as he recognized the voice, rubbing them tiredly, only to realize how late it was. He sat up quickly, looking around. More three hours had passed, that much he knew. "Watson! You were supposed to wake me much sooner!"

John laughed, "I knew you'd say that. Oh well its been so quite that I lost track of time," he lied. Laying his jacket on the ground he dozed off hoping to get a little sleep before it was time to leave.

Sherlock was still bristling with annoyance at Watson, but as he dozed off to sleep, Sherlock could not hold on to his anger. Shaking his head at him, Sherlock instead turned his attention to keeping watch. It remained quiet for the rest of the night. At least Watson would get some rest.

_A/N: _

_Chapter 5! Enjoy!_

_Love _

_Savannah_


	6. Chapter 6

When John woke up it was just starting to get light, he sat up and looked to Holmes, "Good morning Holmes, how was watch the rest of the night?"

"Good morning," Sherlock answered, standing up and beginning to brush the dirt away from his clothing. "The night was quiet, and I am ready to be moving." He was feeling rather hungry at that point, having only eaten a piece of toast and an apple two days ago, but there was nothing we could do about that now. He'd gone without food longer.

John nodded also standing up, "We should find some food, especially fir you, you have barely eaten foe the past two or three days." He looked Sherlock over, "Then we can start moving."

"I have gone without food for longer," Sherlock pointed out, though really he was rather relieved to hear John suggest it, looking around. Now we need only figure out where to GET food.

John looked around the area, "If we could find some sort apple tree, which would grow around here, but we may have to go the smallest bit of our safe zone."

Sherlock nodded, peering around as well. "Well then, lead the way, Doctor." While he might have been the one to turn to for the escape plan, Watson was an officer. He had been trained in navigation and survival. In this case, Sherlock would follow him.

John looked back at him, "You do know what a apple tree and other fruit trees look like don't you?"

Sherlock paused, flushing in embarrassment. "There are not many fruit trees in London..." He'd never left London in his life, and his work had never required him to classify trees.

John noted Sherlock's flush, "Don't be embarrassed, I can tell that you haven't really been out of London." John then explained to him what the trees looked like, "If you find any tree like that, or something else that we could eat then let me know."

Sherlock nodded, making a mental note of each detail. "Alright. It shouldn't be too difficult to find." He started off, searching for the trees John had just described.

John watched as Sherlock walked off looking for a tree of any of the variety of what John described. He walked around and finally found a tree that had plenty of fruit on it, so he called out, "Holmes, I found one."

As Watson called, Sherlock looked up, smiling. Finally, some food. He hurried to join John, peering up at the fruit. "I'll climb up and throw the fruit down to you."

John looked at Sherlock, "Alright but you have to be careful, if you somehow hurt yourself I wouldn't be able to do very much."

Sherlock chuckled lightly. "You needn't worry about that. I am not particularly clumsy." He grabbed onto the lowest branch, hefting his self up with relative ease. Sherlock began to pluck some of the fruit away after inspecting it for bugs, and drop them toward Watson.

John watched as Sherlock climbed up the tree, praying that he wouldn't slip, fall and kill his self all accidentally. Sherlock grabbed some fruit inspecting it before throwing it down to John, he caught it and put it all into a pile.

Once Sherlock had gathered enough, as well as some extra, so that they might have it when they continue walking, he carefully climbed down again, but as he did, he slipped a little on a root from the tree. Sherlock stumbled into Watson, grasping at his shirt in order to stabilize his self, and felt his cheeks burn red again.

When Holmes was done he started to climb down, and when he was down he slightly tripped on the root of the tree, stumbling into John, grasping his shirt in order to stabilize his self. John felt his cheeks burn red, helping Sherlock upright John asked, "Are you alright?"

"I... yes, quite alright. Merely a root," Sherlock answered, meeting his eyes. For one moment, Sherlock was tempted to lean in and to kiss John, but thankfully, he regained his senses before that happened. Pulling away quickly, Sherlock cleared his throat, still blushing. "Well, we best eat quickly."

The entire time Sherlock's eyes were locked with John's John fought the urge to lean in and kiss Sherlock. But when Sherlock pulled away still blushing John knew Sherlock felt something also, but what he doesn't what. John nodded grabbing an apple throwing it to Sherlock and grabbing one for his self, "Yes, then we'll carry what ever we have left with us, so we don't have to stop later."

Sherlock caught the apple, simply sitting down on the ground to take a bite out of it. He could see from his blush that John had been thinking about... something as well, but he did not want to risk anything to find out what.

John didn't sit down besides Holmes, he just stood up and ate his apple, when he finished it John turned to Holmes, "Do you want to go know, or eat another apple?"

Sherlock looked up at the sky, frowning. "We should walk now, before the sun gets too high." He knew it would be torturously hot come noon, and we could rest again and eat then.

John nodded holding my hand out to help him up, "We can stick the leftover fruits in our pockets and carry them around, that sound alright?"

Sherlock took John's hand, the contact sending a warmth through his chest as he pulled his self to his feet. "Yes, that sounds good." Sherlock answered, trying to ignore these odd feelings which Watson always seemed to give him.

John nodded letting go of Sherlock's hand even though hr wished not to. John took some of the leftover fruit, sticking in into his pockets, handing the rest to Holmes.

Sherlock stuffed the remaining fruit into his pocket's, glad they were not too heavy, though they would still be a burden on our hike. "Lead the way, Watson."

John nodded and started waking, it was relatively quiet, and the sun was starting to get higher in the sky. He looked over to he left and saw a stream, "Lets stop for a moment and get a drink, we both need to stay sharp."

"Good idea," Sherlock said, wiping the sweat from his brow. The stream sounded like paradise at that moment, after walking in the hot sun. He knelt down next to it, cupping the cool, clean water in his hands and drinking gratefully.

John watched as Holmes knelt down by the stream cupping his hands and drinking the water, John looked away a blush forming on his cheeks. He knelt down to the left of Sherlock copying his actions also getting his self a drink, then once he was satisfied he started to wash his face in the wonderfully cool water.

Sherlock glanced at Watson, spotting his blush, but deciding that it must have been the heat. Propriety had always been important in our culture, but he have often been described as a Bohemian, caring little for what society tried to push on him. That is what led him to cast modesty aside, as he unlaced his boots, pulling them off with his socks, and then following with his shirt. Sherlock dropped the fruit from his pockets and, extra weight cast aside, he jumped into the stream, basking in the cool comfort it offered.

John looked over to Holmes after hearing a splash and saw that he got into the stream, "That is a wonderful idea," John said. Also casting modesty aside he stripped down to his pants, took the fruit out of his pockets and jumped into the stream. He laid on his back in the water enjoying the coolness of it.

Sherlock chuckled as Watson jumped in with him, running his hand through my now soaked hair. "I am glad to see you are wise enough to cast aside proprieties in times such as these. I had almost feared you would make me run laps for doing such a thing."

John laughed looking over at Sherlock, "I'm not that type of officer Holmes, if I wanted to torture someone I'd use a scalpel, but never tell them to run laps or do push ups." John took a breath submerging his head underwater, bringing it back up he finished, "Besides how could someone not do this, it is far to hot not to."

John's response brought a startled laugh out of Sherlock, so sudden that even he was surprised by it. It had been a long time since he'd laughed outright. Sherlock couldn't hold in his grin. "A fair point. Do remind me never to get on your bad side."

John smiled, "Holmes, I can already tell that you are going to be one of those people that even if you make me mad I wouldn't do that to you. I would find some other way to deal with you."

"You say that now, but you've not spent much time with me," Sherlock pointed out with amusement. "I have quite a habit of grating on the nerves of others. Just ask my brother Mycroft."

John shot his head up shocked, "Well, well now I know a little more about you. You have a brother named Mycroft, is he older or younger?"

John's surprise made Sherlock smirk wryly, and he shook his head. "He is seven years my senior."

John nodded smiling, "So you didn't see him much, or you just don't like him? It has to be something for you to be the way you are."

John's words made Sherlock frown, glancing away. "We get along well enough," he answered, shrugging lightly. "He is one of few people I can tolerate for long periods of time, and whose company I truly enjoy. However, it is because of him that I am here. He was unwilling to loan me the money I needed to stay in London."

John nodded, "Hmm, interesting." He then swam over to the bank and climbed out feeling cool enough. he shook his self off deciding to lay on the grass for a few minutes so he could dry enough in the sun.

Sherlock shrugged lightly, swimming to the edge to climb out and lay down next to him. "Don't do that," he grumbled. "It's not interesting, it's boring." He didn't care to think about it, or have it analyzed. He just wanted to finish his time there and return home.

John smiled, "You just want to go home don't you?" Looking over to Sherlock laying down next to John he waited for his response.

Was Sherlock really so transparent? "Yes." He admitted. "London is my city. I'm not exaggerating when I say I know every street and shop."

John laughed, "Don't worry I believe you." Looking over to him John saw the little beads of water on him and the smile on his face and John had to fight the urge to lean over and kiss him. Shaking his head John scolded his self, he was engaged to Mary, he loved her!

Shaking his head, Sherlock rolled onto his stomach and pushed his self up to his feet. "Do you want an apple?" he asked, moving to get one for his self.

"No I am fine," John replied watching Sherlock get his self an apple, "Thank you for offering." He sat up and looked down at his hands.

Something had changed in Watson, but Sherlock wasn't entirely sure what. For all his observational powers, emotions were difficult for him. "Is something wrong?"

John vaguely heard Holmes ask, "Is something wrong?" Not wanting to alarm him John shook his head no, "Not at all, why do you ask?"

John was lying to him, Sherlock knew it. He had learned to spot a lie a mile away, but was it really his business? So, Sherlock just shrugged lightly. "The way you blush and look away from me."

John blushed a bright red, "It would seem that for once in your life your wrong old boy." Looking over to Sherlock John smiled the blush leaving his cheeks, "Absolutely nothing is wrong."

Sherlock frowned at John again, unconvinced by his smile. Sherlock took a bite of his apple, holding John's gaze steadily. "I would prefer you tell me it's none of my business than lie to me Watson."

The smile left John's face a small glare entering it, "Fine you wanted me to say it. Its none of your damn business Holmes! That sound better?" He slightly yelled at Sherlock, immediately regretting it.

Sherlock had expected John to become upset, yet that still did not stop his harsh tone from stinging. 'No, he does not affect me,' Sherlock thought to his self in frustration. 'He is just some officer, and nothing more.' Where Watson grew angry and emotional, Sherlock shut his emotions out completely, his expression becoming cold and stoic. "Yes," Sherlock said calmly. "At least now you are not lying." He would not make the mistake of showing what he was feeling again.

John stood up sighing, he looked to Holmes and said, "I am sorry, but this is very stressful. I have so many things running through my mind right now. I have a feeling of doom descending upon myself. What doom, I don't know. I just want to be safe again, not hold prisoner being tortured day after day because of the uniform I wear and the things I know. Right now I just want to go home to London."

Sherlock could understand being stressed, and wanting to return home to London, but he was still hurt, though he never would have admitted it out loud. "Well, then we'd best return quickly or we'll never make it back," he said coldly, standing and beginning to gather his belongings again.

John could tell Sherlock was hurt but would never admit it so John just put his clothes back on and put the rest of the apples back in his pocket, "I really am sorry Holmes," looking at him sadly, "But it should only be another hour before we are back at camp, if not at least to our soldiers."

Watson's apology and the sad look in his eyes caused Sherlock's resolve to waiver, but he looked away quickly, forcing the emotions from him again. "An hour. That should get us there before sundown."

John nodded, "Yes now, let us be on our way Holmes. The sooner that we get back the better."

Readjusting his dirty uniform, ensuring that every piece was in place, Sherlock nodded. "Right. After you, sir." Sir. Just as with any other officer. John was not 'Watson' to Sherlock. He was 'Sir.'

John sighed, knowing that Sherlock was very hurt and upset. Sherlock even called him 'Sir' for god sakes. John started leading the way, not enjoying the silence that was sitting there between the two of us.

Sherlock followed after John in silence, pushing his hands into his pockets. When the camp finally came into sight, he felt a great relief. He hated the silence between us as well, but Sherlock did not want to break it either.

Finally the camp came into sight, John felt a great relief that he would finally be safe, well safe-ish. He looked over to Holmes, "Well Mr.," putting great emphasis on the Mr., "Holmes, thank you for everything and I have a feeling that you will be asked questions by some of your other commanding officers. I thought you would like to know."

"Of course." Sherlock knew he would be questioned. They would want to make sure he did not tell them anything about our forces. Perhaps Sherlock was not fighting for the Queen, but he was hardly a tyrant.

As soon as Holmes finished speaking we were surrounded by our men, the higher up officers coming closer to us. Finding his self in many embraces John heard a couple of voices asking, "How on Gods' green Earth did you get away?" Smiling he pointed over to Holmes, "That soldier is a genies, without him I would still be locked up."

Sherlock simply stood back and watched as Watson was embraced, so many soldiers happy to see him. Sherlock was considering simply walking back to his tent when Watson told them that Sherlock was a genius, and that if it weren't for him, we would still be there he had never received such high praise from anyone, and despite his anger, Sherlock found his self blushing dark red. The soldiers began clapping him on the shoulder, asking with excitement how he had done it. There were so many questions, he did not know which to respond to first.

As all of the soldiers started clamoring around Holmes, a doctor by the name of Phillip came over to John. He smiled at Phillip, "Hello Phillip, it is good to be back." Phillip just looked at John slightly smiling, "This came for you John, the day after you were taken it arrived. Its from your mother, it was postdated after three days after the last letter you received. I think you need to read it." John just nodded taking the letter Phillip had held out for him, and headed to his tent.

Sherlock saw Watson walking away, but he did not want to follow this time, so instead he answered the soldiers questions the best he could, explaining to them what had happened. Sherlock have never been fond of too much attention, but when they called him clever, he couldn't help feeling pleased... even if none compared to the pride he had felt when Watson called Sherlock a genius.

John walked to his tent sitting at his desk he opened his letter and started to read it.

_Dear John, _

_I never wished to tell you this way, but I am afraid that Mary has been killed in a horrible accident. I know that this was not the way you wish to have been told-_

This is when the tears started flowing from John's eyes, his Mary was dead she could not be, fighting back the tears he tried reading what he could.

_Dearest son the last words that came from her mouth was, "Tell John that I love him."_

John stopped reading letting the tears and pain consume his body.

Finally, Sherlock managed to get away from the others, not wanting to remain the center of attention for too long. He shook his head, approaching the officers to fill in the last of the details for them alone.

John dropped the letter laying his head on my desk allowing his emotions to finally overrun him, Mary was dead, killed in a carriage accident. Now he had no cares in the world, Holmes most likely hated John's guts and Mary was dead. John have no one in the world.

Able to do as he wished now, Sherlock paused, frowning. Genius... that was what Watson had called him. He wondered if John had know that, if anything would get him back on Sherlock's good side, it was complimenting his intelligence. Sighing, Sherlock decided he would go speak to John, and apologize as well. After all... what other friends did he have? Stopping in front of his tent, Sherlock rapped on the canvas like he was knocking.

Hearing a knock upon the canvas of his tent John sat up wiping his face clean, stashing the letter more away he called out, "Enter," his voice slightly cracking.

Sherlock's brows furrowed in confusion as he heard the crack in John's voice, worry tugging at his chest. Sherlock stepped inside as John called, eyes falling on him. Instantly, Sherlock knew he had been crying, despite the fact that he'd wiped the tears away. His eyes were still red and puffy. "Watson..."

John took a deep breath, "What is it that you need Holmes?" He looked Sherlock up and down trying to figure out what Sherlock was doing in John's tent.

Sherlock considered asking him what was wrong, insisting he told him, but that was what had started our argument in the first place. Instead, "I wanted to offer my apologies. I had no right to try and push you when you did not want to speak."

John laughed shortly and hurtfully, "Thank you, but it seems so trivial now, so sorry."

The hurt in his voice made Sherlock want to reach out to John, but he forced his self to remain where he was. Sherlock was almost hesitant to ask what was wrong again, not wanting to start another argument, but he could not simply ignore it. "What happened?"

John tried not to break down again as the words left his mouth, "Mary's been killed in a carriage accident, I just received the letter."

Whatever Sherlock had been expecting to hear, that had not been it, but he understood why John was upset immediately. Sherlock opened his mouth and closed it again, not entirely sure what to say. He have never had to comfort someone before.

John stood up, "Thank you for stopping by Holmes, but I must now say goodbye. I need to check about camp to see that everything is all right."

Sherlock may not have been an emotional person, but he knew John should not be going around doing those types of things after receiving such news. "Everything is fine," he told John firmly, placing a hand on Watson's shoulder to stop him. "Watson, I...I truly am sorry about your fiancé..."

John nodded, mumbling a thank you before moving out from under Sherlock's hand and out of the entrance of the tent.

He moved and this time Sherlock did not stop him as he walked out of the tent. Sherlock just stared helplessly, for once entirely uncertain of what he should do. Sighing, he stepped out as well to go to his own tent.

John walked down to the medical tent, checking on the patient down there. They all were glad to see him, joking about how Phillip was a horrible doctor, which he took good naturally since he was also there. John finally headed back aimlessly to his tent. He lost his self in his thoughts and soon found his self by the lesser tent where soldiers of Holmes' standing were staying. John decided he would stop by Sherlock's tent and apologize for his earlier actions.

_A/N: _

_Well as I was overlooking this after editing I could tell where I edited from the original RP….but oh well if you don't like it kiss my butt…not really….hope you all liked it!Lots of Love,_

_Savannah_


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock had changed out of his old uniform into a cleaner one and was now lying down on his bed, staring at the 'ceiling' of my tent. With nothing to do and no one - "No Watson," Sherlock thought bitterly - to distract him, he could feel boredom gnawing at the corners of his mind and with it, depression. The two were often one in the same for him. A mind like his, constantly working, needed something to occupy it or he would fall into this, what his brother sometimes called his 'black moods.' Having Watson so upset certainly wasn't helping either. Usually when Sherlock got like this, he wouldn't move or speak for days at a time until something caught his attention.

After a few more minutes of walking John reached Holmes' tent he raised his hand to knock but hesitated, what if Sherlock didn't wish to see or speak to him? Well that was something John would have to risk. He knocked on the canvas and waited for an answer.

A soft tap signified that someone was outside the tent, though for a moment Sherlock didn't react. Perhaps it was an officer, or a fellow soldier, waiting to tell him he had work to do - mind-numbingly tedious work that would only serve to deepen the boredom tugging at the corners of my mind. Sherlock could think of no other reason, as why else would someone knock on his door? Certainly not a social call, unless Watson...Watson. Sherlock closed his eyes, forcing his self not to get his hopes up. He would have to answer anyways, he supposed, or risk getting into trouble if it was an officer. "Come in," his voice sounded hallow, weighed down with the depression around him.

You could tell Sherlock was depressed, but why? John opened the tent flap to see him in a fresh uniform. John walked in, "Holmes-" but he was unable to say any more.

Sherlock didn't bother turning his attention away from the ceiling, his voice telling Sherlock well enough who it was. Watson was here to speak to him, though he could not fathom why. Had John not just brushed him aside for the second time that day? What had made him change his mind? Emotions were so difficult; this was the reason Sherlock often avoided them when he could. "If I have work to do, Watson, kindly tell me what it is and be on your way."

"I am sorry Holmes," John said just barely loud enough for Sherlock to hear him, "And if you wish not to speak to me I completely understand. I'll just leave you be." He then turned back to the entrance and started walking out of it.

An apology? This man made Sherlock dizzy with his moods! At the same time, knowing that John was apologizing, that he actually wanted to speak to Sherlock, helped to lighten his own mood a little. "Watson, wait- You do not have to leave... if you do not want to..."

John's heart soared when Sherlock said that he didn't have to leave Sherlock's tent if he did not wish to, John turned around to face him. "I really am sorry for my actions earlier."

Sherlock sat up slowly, running his hand through his hair. "I suppose your actions were understandable, considering what happened." Mary had been his fiancé, after all. He must have loved her.

John watched as Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, oh how John loved that ruffled up look that it gave him, John nodded listening to his words, "Not only did I love her, but she was my best friend, crazy as that seems."

Sherlock smiled wryly at John's words, understanding better than he might think. In the short time that he had come to know John, he had become Sherlock's best - his only - friend. And there was no denying he felt a little more... "Do you... want to talk about it?"

John was surprised and he was sure that the shock showed on his face, "I don't want to burden anything more on you Holmes."

Sherlock actually laughed softly at John's words, shaking his head. "It is no burden, my dear Watson. Talking to you is far better than wallowing in my own boredom."

John smiled softly, nodding his head towards Sherlock's bedding, "May I sit down?" he asked.

Sherlock scooted over to make room for him on the blankets. "Of course." Sherlock crossed his legs under him, folding his hands on his lap.

John sat down next to Sherlock after he made room for him. It was quiet for a few moments until John said, "I really don't know what to talk about."

Sherlock smiled wryly again, watching John, and giving a tiny shrug. "I can't say I'm experienced in these things myself."

John laughed softly, he could feel Sherlock watching him but would give no indication that John knew he was. "How did you manage to get away form the other men?"

"I simply told them what happened... and I told them that I was tired. They believed it after all that we had been through... did you mean it? When you said I was a genius?" Sherlock said.

John smiled, "Well lets see. Your smart, insane, you come up with the craziest ideas which somehow work out in the end. So yes I did mean it, you're a genius." He watched Sherlock out of the corner of his eye for his reaction.

John's words brought another dark blush to Sherlock's cheeks, and he looked down at his hands, smiling. There was no way for him to remain angry at John when he spoke like this.

John saw Sherlock blush, smile and look down at his hands so John decided to toy with him, "Aha, so the famous Sherlock Holmes, does have a heart, its just hidden from the world."

John's words only caused Sherlock to blush more, and he looked away, attempting to hide it from him. "More than you realize, Doctor," I mumbled, trying to push back my embarrassment.

John smirked as he put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, "I am sorry if I have made you uncomfortable Holmes, I was just trying to joke with you."

"Do not apologize." Finally managing to push away the blush, Sherlock looked back at him, smiling slightly as John put his hand on his shoulder. "I am simply... not accustomed to talking to someone in this way."

John smiled, "Well it is good to try new things every once and a while."

"Yes," Sherlock chuckled softly. "It is." Thus far, I was enjoying it, even if Watson's emotions often confused me.

John smiled, "I am glad you also think so, well it is getting late. I think I will turn in for the night. I will see you in the morning, so good night." He got up smiling at Sherlock and headed for the tent entrance.

"Good night, my dear Watson," Sherlock answered, John's smile creating another warmth deep in his chest. He moved to lay down again, folding his hands on his chest.

When Sherlock called John, 'My dear Watson' John felt a sudden warmth in his chest making him smile and his heart flutter as he left the tent and went to his tent. When John got to his tent he changed out of his uniform, took his shoes off and laid down drifting slowly off to sleep.

Though Sherlock was more relaxed now, he did not sleep. It was not uncommon for him to stay up all night, and so after a few hours, he rose from bed, walking back outside. Sherlock nodded to the soldiers on watch for the night, pausing at the medical tent. The cocaine called to him, but he pushed it to the back of his mind, instead sitting at the edge of the camp to look out at the stars. Sherlock closed his eyes, wondering what was happening in London now.

John awoke covered in a cold sweat the dream still replaying through his mind.

"_Watson," growled Holmes against my throat where he was kissing, I moaned as I lifted hi head up to kiss him passionately on the lips-_

John shook his head, "Maybe some fresh air will do me some good." He thought to his self as he exited his tent and went for a small walk around the camp. He found his self being drawn to the edge of camp where none other then Sherlock Holmes was sitting. "Hello," John called out a dark red blush appearing his cheeks the dream still fresh in his mind.

"Hello," Sherlock heard from a now very familiar voice, his first reaction being to smile, but he pushed it back, wanting to keep some hold on his emotions. "Watson," Sherlock greeted, glancing over at him. Sherlock spotted the blush on John's face, and wondered what the cause of it had been.

John sat down next to Sherlock looking up at the stars, "Couldn't sleep I take it?"

Sherlock shrugged lightly, his attention no longer drawn to the stars, but to the man next to him. "It is not uncommon for me. And you? Your attire suggests that you slept, but the gleam of sweat on your neck suggests you awoke suddenly. Was it a nightmare?"

John blushed even darker, if that was even possible. Stammering he replied, "Yo-you could cal-call it that I-I suppose."

His stammering and darker blush caused Sherlock to raise an eyebrow, and he couldn't help smirking a little. "Ah. I understand," he said, though he felt a flush crawl over his own cheeks, and he looked away. While he had never been in a relationship, well... he was just as male as John was, and one could not help those kinds of dream. Still, Sherlock could not help wondering who it was about...

Oh how John hoped Sherlock would figure out that he was the one in John's dream, Sherlock would then forever hate him. Looking up at the stars John changed the subject, "Do you enjoy astronomy Holmes?" He lost most of my blush, my cheeks were still lightly flushed though.

Shaking his head slightly, Sherlock forced his self to look up at the sky again. "I enjoy stars," he said. "At least, looking at them they are beautiful. But I have never found any point in learning their names and positions. What difference does it make to me?"

John smiled slightly, "I only know the ones that will help me find my way when I need it. The is the only reason I enjoy astronomy, well expect for the stories I heard as a child."

"I suppose they are useful in that way... but then, I had never expected to find myself out of London." Sherlock never thought I would need stars for navigation. Looking back at him, seeing his blue eyes, my heart beat faster. What were my chances, I wondered. "What stories did you hear?"

John laughed, "What stories haven't I heard. My mother loved telling me stories about everything, since I was an only child."

His laugh brought another smile from Sherlock. "My family never told stories. At least, not of that sort. Mycroft used to tell me about past crimes and figures in the government."

John looked into Holmes' dark brown eyes and laughed, "That is still stories in its own ways, no matter what you think."

"I suppose you are right," Sherlock chuckled softly, looking back at him. Our eyes were locked, it seemed, and his heart began to beat faster, racing in his chest. Sherlock wanted to kiss John, but he couldn't, could he?

Our eyes were locked and John just wanted to kiss Sherlock so badly, John licked his lips nervously as he said, "I am a doctor, of course I am right."

"Of course," Sherlock said, his voice getting a little softer. John licked his lips, and finally, Sherlock could not resist. He had always been a little impulsive, acting before the plan completely formed in his head. Sherlock leaned in, closing the gap between them and bringing their lips together. It lasted only a moment before Sherlock realized what he had done and pulled back quickly, his cheeks burning red. "I... I'm sorry..." He should not have done it. Homosexuality was illegal, John could easily turn Sherlock in if he was disgusted, and Sherlock could hang.

_A/N:_

_Du-du-duuuuunnnnnn! What's going to happen next? What will John do will he run away screaming or will he kiss back? Yes I am evil, and yes you all love me. Now I am off to bed for I am a sick little girl (both figuratively and literally lol). I mean I love slash, so sue me. But I promise to get up extra early tomorrow to start editing the next chapter._

_And just so you all know I might try something new with the editing, but it will be very easy to change if no on likes :D Once again Happy New YEAR!_

_Lots of Love,_

_Savannah_


	8. Chapter 8

John's heart almost stopped in his chest when Sherlock kissed him, it lasted only a few moments before he pulled away cheeks burning red stammering an apology. "Don't be sorry," was all John said before grabbing Sherlock's face, pulling it to him and kissed him.

For a moment, Sherlock was stunned; he had not expected this to happen. He was not going to let it slip through his fingers asking questions, though. Sherlock reached up to John's face in return, leaning into the kiss. Hid heart pounded with excitement, and he could hardly believe this was happening.

John's heart beat faster as Sherlock leaned into the kiss, John was so happy; he just hoped that this wasn't another dream. He ran his hands through Sherlock's hair enjoying ruffling it up even more then what it was.

Feeling John's fingers running through Sherlock's hair, he hummed softly in approval, but then forced his self to break away. "We cannot do this here," he said softly, peering around. "Someone might see." Officer or not, it would not protect us from the law.

When Sherlock broke away John was saddened until he said, "We cannot do this here. Someone might see." John nodded standing up; he held his hand out to him, "My tent or yours?"

The invitation to one of the tents caused Sherlock's already racing heart to flutter nervously. Still, he did not want this to come to an end. "Yours," Sherlock answered. John's tent had more room. Sherlock stood, starting back into the camp toward his tent.

John smiled and followed Sherlock back into the camp to John's tent, when they entered his tent John pulled Sherlock back to him wanting to taste him again.

As Watson pulled Sherlock against him, Sherlock smiled, leaning in to kiss him again. This time, it was deeper, his arms wrapping around him to pull their bodies flush against one another.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John pulling them closer and John let him. John once again tangled his hands in Sherlock's hair, enjoying the feeling.

Sherlock was a little nervous. Strange as it might have been, he had never gone further than this point with anyone, and even this he had only done while in disguise on a case. He did not get close to people, after all, he saw them merely as figures in an equation. Watson was different, though. Sherlock broke away again to catch his breath, pressing another quick kiss to John's jaw.

When Sherlock broke away John quickly caught his breath as Sherlock placed a quick kiss to John's jaw. "Holmes," John murmured.

Sherlock shivered as John said his name, running a hand over his back. Sherlock wondered for a moment if this was really about him, or if John was only feeling lonely after his fiancé's death, not entirely sure how to ask that question.

"I need you Holmes," John looked at Sherlock seeing the thoughts in his eyes, "Just stay with me and hold me at least. Please."

His words erased the thoughts from Sherlock's mind - an astounding feat on its own - and his eyes softened. Sherlock reached up to take John's face in his hands, kissing him on the lips again. "If you need me, then I am here, Watson."

John took Sherlock's hand and led him over to John's cot where John laid down with him, snuggling his head into Sherlock's chest.

As they laid down and Watson snuggled into Sherlock's chest, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, drawing John closer to him. It was strange for him, to be laying with someone, but it was warm and comfortable.

It was so warm and comfortable being in Homes' arms as he drew John closer to him. "I'm sorry Holmes," John whispered.

Sherlock frowned, not sure why John was apologizing to him. "Whatever for, my dear Watson?" Sherlock asked softly.

John laughed lightly, "I really don't know. It just seemed to be the right thing to say. I guess its for everything, for making you think that you were just a replacement for Mary."

John's words brought a pause to Sherlock, and Sherlock frowned, turning them over in his head. "Aren't I?" he asked quietly. "You loved her, after all. Surely you cannot be over her death by now."

"True I am still saddened," John was surprised by his words, "But, for some reason I have been fighting back feelings for you when I practically first laid eyes on you."

John's words caused heat to travel to Sherlock's cheeks, but he pushed the blush away. "That is romantic twaddle, Watson. There can be no 'feelings' save lust before you even know who I am," Sherlock stated, though if he were honest, he had felt much the same way. Since Watson first showed Sherlock his intelligence, Sherlock's feelings had become stronger and stronger.

John laughed slightly, "May we just lay here? No more talking?"

Something about the doctor's laugh always caused Sherlock to melt a little. Despite his words, he smiled faintly. "Yes. That sounds like a fantastic idea."

John smiled softly, allowing his self to drift off to sleep in Sherlock's arms. It was just so comfortable there, he felt safe, safer then he ever had before. When he fell asleep he felt completely at peace.

Sherlock listened to John's breath even out, smiling a little to his self. Sherlock closed his eyes and eventually fell asleep as well, content and warm.

John heard deep, even breathing and he smiled as he looked up to see that Holmes was actually there and last night wasn't a dream. John kissed Sherlock's jaw hoping it would wake him up.

Sherlock was woken by the gentle brush along his jaw. His eyes fluttered open slowly, and a warm happiness filled him when he was greeted by Watson's soft blue eyes. "Good morning."

John smiled reaching up and kissing Sherlock on his lips, "We should get up, before someone comes in here and we both get into trouble."

Sherlock sighed, knowing they'd have to move, but not much wanting to. "Of course." He forced his self to release John, sitting up on the cot and attempting to smooth his rumpled up uniform.

John sat up then looked at Sherlock shaking his head, "I should of let you get some other type of clothing, so you didn't have to sleep in your uniform."

Sherlock shrugged, standing up. "I've slept in worse conditions." He ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth it as well, but it really only ruffled it up more. "If anyone questions me being in your tent, we will simply tell them that we are continuing with my experimenting.

John smiled up at Sherlock, "In a way we were experimenting old boy." John kissed Sherlock, "I like it when your hair's like that, leave it that-a-way."

The kiss and his compliment caused Sherlock to smile again, his cheeks turning pink if John wanted Sherlock to leave his hair this way, he would gladly do it. "Is that an order, Sir?" He asked teasingly.

John's cheeks turned slightly pink at Sherlock's teasing, he smirked at Sherlock, "I guess so, but here is a better order. Kiss me Holmes."

Sherlock knew that if he wanted to, he could tell John no, and John would not object, but Sherlock obeyed the order anyways. "Yes sir," he murmured as Sherlock took John's face into his hands and kissed John again, passionately.

John smiled into the kiss, tangling his hands in Sherlock's hair as John was so accustomed to. He continued the kiss for a while longer before breaking away panting, "We need to get moving, someone might just pop in."

Sherlock nearly whimpered as Watson broke away, not wanting it to end, though he was quite out of breath by now. "Yes... of course..." Sherlock responded, knowing John was right. Shaking his head at his self, Sherlock took a couple steps away and straightened his clothing one last time. "Shall we then, Doctor?"

"I will see you later Holmes," John said as he walked out of the tent and headed on his way to the medical tent. When he got there he was able to relieve the doctor on duty, and after that release the final patient, deeming him healthy enough to go on. After that was done John sat down and started working on some paperwork.

Sherlock walked out after Watson, going to perform his own duties. Sherlock was, unfortunately, still a low rank, and was thus assigned to some of the menial work around camp. He seemed to be running around camp for everyone, yet while he should have been bored, Sherlock felt lighter than air, thinking about last night. His delight only grew when a higher ranked soldier ordered Sherlock to deliver some forms to the doctor. "Watson?" Sherlock asked, entering the medical tent.

John looked up at the sound of his voice being called, "In here," he called back wondering what Holmes was doing in the medical tent.

Hearing Watson, Sherlock continued into the tent, approaching the desk he was at. "I have some forms here for you to sign, oh great commanding officer," Sherlock joked softly, his good mood clear. The first good mood that he had been in since arriving there, in fact, and all thanks to the man before him now.

John smiled up at Sherlock, "You seem in a wonderful mood so far today old boy, care to tell me why?" John looked at him waiting.

Sherlock set the paperwork in front of John before resting his hands flat on the desk, looking down at him. "I've absolutely no reason at all to be in a wonderful mood. I'm running around the camp doing everyone's dirty work - but perhaps I just woke up on the right side of the bed this morning." Sherlock smiled teasingly at John, knowing the 'right side of the bed' was 'his bed'.

John's smile got bigger, "Well I could have you being dirty work here, and I guess I'm going to have you wake up on the right side of the bed more often."

Sherlock forced his self not to blush, not wanting anyone to catch on to their flirting. "I am here to do any dirty work you might require, Doctor" he shot back, his own smile growing as he added a suggestive note to his words. "I hope to waking up on the right side of the bed whenever possible."

John's smile got huge at Sherlock's last words, "Maybe later you can do some dirty work for my, right now I need to fill out this paper work."

It was very difficult to restrain from leaning in and kissing John at that moment. Instead, Sherlock forced his self to take a couple steps back. "I am quite looking forward to it."

John watched as Sherlock took a couple of steps back, John was having so much fun playing with him. "I am to Holmes," John replied back with a smirk.

"Until then, my dear Watson," Sherlock saluted to John, stepping out of the tent quickly before he lost his self control and simply kissed John there in front of everyone else.

John smiled as Sherlock walked out, a half of an hour later he finally finished all of the paperwork. "John where in the bloody hell are you?" John looked up at the sound of Phillip's voice. "In here Phillip." Phillip found him, "Aha, now lets go. You been doing far to much paper work John, have you ate yet?"

John looked to Phillip opening his mouth to answer when his stomach grumbled, "Well there's your answer Phillip." He smiled, grabbing John by the wrist, "Well its time for you to eat." He then proceeded to drag John to the mess tent and made him make a plate to eat. When John sat down and started eating Phillip started talking.

Sherlock continued to run around, doing all those little errands for those of higher rank than his self. Often times, he had to force his self not to roll his eyes because, as good of a mood as he was in, he knew he was far too intelligent to be playing errand boy. Finally, Sherlock decided to get something to eat, stopping at the mess tent. Feeling as happy as he was, he actually had an appetite, filling his plate up. Sherlock peered around, pleased to spot Watson sitting down, though a bit disappointed to see him chatting with someone else. Still, Sherlock wouldn't let the man - also a doctor, he deduced easily - ruin his chance to talk with Watson a little more. So Sherlock moved to sit down nearby, "Watson," he greeted before glancing at the other man. "Doctor."

John looked to Holmes smiled, "Holmes this is Phillip, Philip this is Sherlock Holmes, the soldier that has been so helpful to me." Phillip smiled extending his hand, "Nice to meet you, although for the life of me I don't know why he hasn't properly introduced us before." John rolled his eyes, "Maybe Phillip because you are you."

Sherlock smiled wryly, politely shaking the hand offered to him. "And you. I see that you had to replace some stitches today. I do hope the patient is well," he commented off-handedly, showing off his deductions a little, a smooth smile on his face.

Phillip looked surprised, "How did you do that?" He asked like a child in a candy store. John pinched the bridge of his nose, "Phillip I've told you before and I'll tell you again, you need to grow up." Philip just ignored John and kept looking at Holmes.

Sherlock smiled, pleased that Phillip seemed to think it so impressive. "It's quite simple," he said, taking a slightly smug bite of his meal. "There is an indent on your left index finger where you hold the suture tight while stitching with your right hand. It also proves to me that you are right-handed, and that you had to give the patient at least twenty stitches to be holding it so long. It was a serious injury, then."

"Very well then," John stood up, "I have paperwork to turn in. Have fun talking. I will see the two of you whenever." He then walked out of the mess tent leaving Phillip to turn in his plate. He then went to the medical tent, just a few yards away from the tent he heard a stick break right in the woods. "Hello. Holmes is that you?" John called out.

Sherlock talked with Philip for a little while, but soon enough he finished his meal and stood up, saying his goodbye. Watson likely had actual work to do, and Sherlock couldn't just stop in all the time, so he began to wander a little bit, pushing his hands into his pockets.

John watched as a man in an enemy uniform stepped put, "Not quite." He then held his pistol up at John, "This is for the gas incident." He then shot John in the leg, he yelled falling to the ground watching as the other man put the gun to his head and pulling the trigger, his lifeless body falling to the ground.

Sherlock was about to head to his own tent when the sound of two gunshots and a yell caught his attention. His eyes widened - he recognized that voice! "Watson!" He turned sharply, running toward the medical tent. Sherlock saw him on the ground, a stain of blood blooming around his leg. Sherlock dropped to his knees beside him, yanking off his uniform coat to press it over the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. "We need a doctor here!"

"Holmes, thank you." John whispered as Sherlock took off his uniform coat and pressed it to John's wound. He grasped the front of Sherlock's shirt, "Please don't leave me Sherlock. I don't want to be alone."

Sherlock was surprised when John called him Sherlock - the only person that ever called him by his first name was his brother - but he did not waste time dwelling on it. "I will not leave you, John," Sherlock promised firmly, wanting so badly to kiss him, but a doctor arrived at their sides before he could."We need to get him to the medical te-"Sherlock had already lifted Watson into his arms before the doctor could finish, and he hurried to the medical tent, setting John gently on the operating table.

John remember being lifted in someone's arms then carried somewhere, where he was then sat on a table very gently. Then after that there was only darkness.

The doctors pushed Sherlock away, insisting that he go wait elsewhere, but he did not want to move away. "Soldier, the best thing you can do for him is go and let us do our jobs!" A soldier snapped. Sherlock hesitated, knowing he was right, and finally relented, going instead to wait in the post-op room.A while later after the surgery, they moved John to one of the beds, and Sherlock was at his side. In an instant.

John slowly opened my eyes to see Holmes sitting there at his bedside, he was slightly dozing. John looked around to remember what happened to him. "Holmes, are you awake?" John whispered not wanting to awake Sherlock if he was asleep.

Sherlock was very tired, waiting for Watson to wake up. He almost drifted off to sleep, until he heard his name. Sherlock started, his eyes snapping open and falling on the other man. "Watson?" He whispered, relief and joy, as well as several other emotions, washing over me. Sherlock reached out, cupping John's face in his hands and running his thumbs over John's cheeks. "John... I had thought..."

John smiled trying not to cry, "You thought what, my dear old boy? A simple gunshot to the leg won't kill me."

Sherlock laughed bitterly, knowing how silly it sounded. "No, I just..." He shook his head, trying to think of how to explain the fear that had hit him. "I have never... CARED about..." Anyone, really. He had never felt that type of concern, or helplessness. Sherlock was accustomed to being in a situation where he knew exactly what to do... but he was not a doctor.

John smiled laying a hand on Sherlock's chest, "You care about me, don't you?"

Had they not been in the middle of the medical tent, Sherlock probably would have kissed him. Instead, he just smiled, resting his hand over John's on his chest. "Yes," Sherlock admitted softly. "I do."

Oh how John wished that they were alone, and not in the middle of the damn medical tent. "Holmes, can you go and find the doctor please?" John asked him softly.

Watson needed something, and Sherlock nodded quickly, practically jumping up. "Of course! I will be only a moment." He hurried off to find the doctor that had cared for John. Not long after, he returned, the surgeon on his heels.

John looked up at the surgeon, "Can you do something about the nauseas? And possibly something for pain, not to much because I want to go back to my tent soon Thomas."

Sherlock could not help hovering nearby, concern tugging at his heart as Watson spoke of nausea and pain. Thomas smiled sympathetically "I can give you some ginger ale for the nausea, and some morphine for the pain, but you know as well as I do you won't be going back to your tent any time soon. Not until we rule out infection."

John huffed a sigh rolling his eyes just in the slightest, "Fine, but I want to be aware of my surroundings Thomas." John looked over to Holmes, "Quit being a mother hen Holmes, I will be fine."

Sherlock frowned, his cheeks reddening a little as John pointed out that he was acting like a mother hen. Sherlock wasn't sure what else to do with his self. Thomas just nodded. "I can try and find something weaker, if you'd like to be more aware."

John smiled up at Holmes and his reddening cheeks, and watched as Thomas walked away. "Holmes, why don't you go and get some sleep? You could use it, I don't want you running yourself ragged because of me. I will be fine, I am in the medical tent, with plenty of doctors and whatnot."

Sherlock frowned, remembering his promise not to leave John. He had sounded so desperate then, but now here he was, alive, better, telling Sherlock to go rest. "I will be fine, Watson. Those doctors have many patients, they will be too busy to get you everything you need."

John slightly glared at Sherlock, "Fine, but you have to rest later. I don't want you getting sick or anything because of me Sherlock."

"Now YOU are acting like a mother hen," Sherlock pointed out. "I am not the one who was shot, Watson. I will be fine."

John rolled his eyes, "You are lucky were in the middle of the medical tent Sherlock. Fine stand guard, just please make sure you don't get into to much trouble."

Sherlock pulled up a chair, sitting down next to Watson and smiling innocently. "Trouble? Me? What kind of man do you take me for, Doctor?"

John laughed, wincing when the laughter shook his leg, causing it to hurt even more, "This is why I hate the bloody war." John grabbed his leg, being careful so he wouldn't cause it more damage.

As he cringed, Sherlock started to reach out, stopping before he actually touched John. "Is that the only reason?" He asked softly, wishing he could do something to sooth the pain.

John thought for a moment before smiling and replying, "Besides the threat of dieing, and getting tortured, yeah that would be it."

Sherlock chuckled lightly, unable to resist reaching out to touch his shoulder. "I am... glad that you are okay, Watson. Do not scare me like that again, I beg you."

Before John could say anything Thomas came back in, "Here you go John this should do it for a little while." John smiled, "Thank you Thomas."

A/N:

A big thanks to **Jolly jamaican janitor **for giving me the laugh that I needed….this chapter was dedicated just for you honey! Thanks to everyone else as well! I love you all! 3

So I've just gotten out of the hospital and it feels good to be home and watching Fruits Basket :-D even if netflix is being a DB….oh well.

Oh and I have a question…have stopped sending any of you guys notifications? Its driving you bloody insane! Anyway please R&R!SAVANNAH! 333333

P.S. And I promise that the "dirty gay sex" is coming up ;-D


	9. Author's Note, PLEASE READ

Hey guys, sorry but this is NOT a chapter, its just that I need for someone to volunteer to convert/change this story from 1st person to third person or whatever, because it is killing me. I am a freaking first person point of view, not second, not third and not omescient(sp). So please, please, PLEASE someone want to step up and help me out. Oh and I have never used a beta before or been one so I really don't know how it works, thanks and I love you all so much!

Love Savannah


	10. Chapter 9

Sherlock withdrew his hand again, not comfortable enough with his own emotions to allow anyone other than Watson to see them. He waited until Thomas had left again before looking away. "Do you need anything else?" 

The Doctor shook his head somewhat sleepily from the morphine, "No Sherlock, I will be okay for now. Just relax and rest for now."

Seeing the sleepiness in his eyes, the detective nodded, sitting back in his chair. "Very well, John. Sleep well. I will be right here when you need me". John nodded with a grin on his lips as he allowed sleep to once again claim him.

When he finally fell asleep, Sherlock smiled faintly and tried to make himself comfortable. He couldn't help his eyes from wandering, wondering if he could get some cocaine without someone noticing. Sherlock was considering trying to get some, when he heard someone call his name.

"Here," He answered, raising his hand. He was given a letter, and he frowned at the familiar handwriting.

SHJWSHJWSHJWSHJWSHJWSHJWSHJW

"John."

He looked up at the familiar voice to see Mary standing there. "Mary, but how?" was all he got out in surprise of her being there.

"It's just a dream John, but I must tell you. I want you to be happy with this Sherlock Holmes, I can see he is a good man, and will treat you well."

The Doctor smiled and kissed her on her cheek, "I will Mary."

She smiled at him, "Good, now I'll have to say good bye John, I will see you again one day."

John opened his eyes and saw Sherlock turning an envelope in his hands. "Who is that from?" He asked.

Sherlock was so lost in thought, staring at the envelope, that he was startled when Watson spoke to him. His eyes snapped up to him before he quickly calmed himself and smiled wryly.

"Good morning to you too". The detective looked back at the letter, smile falling away. "It is from my brother," said, uncertain if he should open it or just burn it like the last one.

"You don't want to open it, do you?" Watson asked softly.

Holmes turned the letter, studying it a moment longer. He could tell where it had been just by noting the tiny details of it. "I don't know." He admitted. He was still angry with him, for letting himbe sent here, but two letters in less than a week? Something had to be going on...

Holmes looked at Watson after he placed a hand on his arm, "Sherlock, I think you should open it. I know you're angry, but maybe it's time to forgive."

Sherlock hesitated, running his thumb over the front of the envelope, where his name was written in his brother's neat writing, before finally nodding. He tore open the letter, removing the crisp piece of paper. 

_Sherlock,  
>I know you have likely ignored my first letter. It is just like you to act so petty. However, after hearing of your capture, I've decided you will be of far more use here in London. I have worked out the details of your return and—<em>

__Holmes stared at the piece of paper, actually shocked. Mycroft held a very high position in the government, though no one knew that, save the government and himself. If there was anyone who could hear about their capture and write a letter concerning it so quickly, it was him. That is not what surprised him. What did was that he was offering his escape from this hellhole... and he wasn't sure if he wanted it.

Watson looked at Sherlock, studying him as he read the letter written by his brother. He had a look of surprise and shock on his face. "Sherlock'' the doctor asked, "What's wrong?"

The rest of the letter went on to describe to Sherlock how he would get back to London, all through Mycroft's connections. He looked up at Watson, opening his mouth but then closing it once more. Finally, unable to find words, he just handed him the letter.

John realized, with shock, that Sherlock was going to leaving him. He looked at him and whispered in a hurt voice "You're leaving me?"

The question caused Sherlock to flinch, and he stood quickly shaking his head quickly.

"No, I..." He what? Was going to give up his career, possibly his life for this man he had met only a few days ago? What was wrong with him? Before he could say anything else, Phillip came running in.

"John, the General is here, he says he wants to speak to you and Mr. Holmes here."

The doctor looked up at him in shock and confusion. He collected himself quickly, furrowing his brows. 'Why would he want to talk to us?'

"Of course," Sherlock straightened his uniform the best he could. "Might as well send him in. Watson can't walk.''

Phillip nodded when he got his breath back, "Yeah, he just wanted me to let you all know. Well, I'll go out and let him know you two are ready." He walked out of the tent and went to get the General.

With his brother's job, and his own work, Sherlock was used to speaking to officials. He wiped the emotions from his face, glancing over at Watson before looking away again. Now was not the time to think about that letter. He would have to handle that later.

John sat up straighter as the General walked in, saluting him he said, "Good morning sir."

He looked at him with a small smile "At ease John, I take it this is Sherlock Holmes," he nodded his head towards Holmes.

"Sir," Sherlock acknowledged, folding his hands behind his back. He could act the perfect soldier when he needed to and he would much rather not anger anyone right now if he had a chance to get out... whether he decided to take it or not was another problem."

"I have talked to your brother Mr. Holmes," General said, "And he would prefer it if we could send you home early considering what has happened in the past few days. My commanders and I have agreed, you have done well enough so you may leave early if you wish to."

Sherlock was startled by his words, though he should not have been. Mycroft knew many high-up officials, it was no surprise he knew the General. He set his jaw, mind whirring with thoughts. 'I could leave now, and never look back'... his eyes wandered to Watson. What was wrong with him?

"How long do I have before I make a decision?"

SHJWSHJWSHJWSHJWSHJWSHJWSHJW

John watched as the General spoke with Sherlock.

"You have three days to decide Mr. Holmes." The General then, turned to him."Concerning you, John. In three days we're shipping you out. You've done well, but this is the third time, I will not allow you to die like this."

The doctor nodded, mumbling, "Thank you sir." The General smiled sadly before turning and walking out of the tent.

Watson was being shipped out as well? Relief hit Sherlock hard; He won't have to choose between him and the career he had worked his entire life. He couldn't help smiling. "Thank you, General. I will have an answer by then." He already had his answer.

John sighed, "I can't believe they are getting rid of me," He looked at Sherlock and joked, "Now I know how much they appreciate me." 

Sherlock's smile fell away. He may have been elated, but Watson clearly was not. "You are the best officer - and doctor, if the state of your patients are anything to go by - I have ever met. But you HAVE just been shot, John. Surely you see some good in going home?"

Watson looked at Sherlock, "When I get home I have to deal with the fact that I will never see Mary again, and once we are back in London you will probably leave so I will never see you again."

The reminder of his fiancé made Holmes flinch a little. Of course, he had no right to be jealous, the woman was dead, but he could not help it, still worried that once Watson stopped mourning her, no longer felt lonely, he would not need Sherlock. "I will be there as long as you wish me to be," He pointed out, smiling hesitantly. "I promised I would not leave you, didn't I?"

The doctor sighed, placing his hand on Sherlock's arm, "I am sorry Sherlock, this is all a little much for me right now at this point in time." He looked up at him, "Do you know what you are going to decide to do yet?"

Holmes stared at him, surprised that he would even ask such a thing. "What I am going to decide? You are leaving; there is nothing else here for me. I am going home, back to my work."

Watson smiled at him, "Thank you Sherlock. If we weren't where we are now you know what I would do, but sadly we are here and someone could show up like that." John finished snapping his fingers, "And if you'd allow it I'd like to help you with your work, if you would like me as a partner."

He wanted to work with him? He was surprised by the offer, and only moments later, he completely lit up. "Of course, you are an intelligent man, Watson. You could, perhaps, use a bit of work when it comes to deduction, of course, but we have already proven how well we work together."

Watson was so happy that he lit up too, "I hoped that you would say yes Sherlock, you are my friend after all. And I know that I could work on deductions, I saw it in your eyes."

How could Sherlock not be happy? His work was his life and Watson wanted to be a part of it. He badly wanted to kiss him again, but forced himself to remain where he was, unable to contain his smile. "I can promise you that London will not seem so dull, Watson. At least… not as long as we are working."

John smiled wanting to grab him and kiss him crazy, "I sure as bloody well hope not Sherlock. I can honestly say I am excited to work with you in London."

"I am glad," He answered, his smile growing into a grin. "Perhaps we can find a place to split the rent to. It would certainly make living in London easier on the finances." That was what had gotten him here in the first place.

The doctor smiled, "I think I know of a place, the landlady's name is Mrs. Hudson. And I couldn't agree more, which is why I am going to offer to work as a doctor on the side of us working together."

"We can look at the rooms when we arrive then, though I believe I will need to speak to my brother first." He began to pace a little, too excited to sit still. All he could hope was that when they did arrive, Watson would not grow tired of him. "I warn you I can be an awful flatmate."

John reached a hand out to him, "Sherlock, I don't care about that," He dropped his voice to a whisper, "As long as you are with me, it doesn't matter to me."

Holmes blushed, glancing away and smiling once more. "Are you certain of that? I perform all manner of experiments. I can get down in the dumps at times, and I will not speak for days at a time. And I play violin, sometimes at the early hours of the morning..."

John smiled, "As I said, I don't care. You're my friend Sherlock, it doesn't matter to me. I'm a doctor after all. I can easily make myself fall asleep if needed and I know ways to get people out of depressions."

Sherlock's eyes softened at his words. 'I would not have high hopes that he could help me with his fits of depression, but I would appreciate him trying either way.' "Thank you..."

Watson smiled, "Of course Sherlock." He coughed slightly, "I think I will rest now, wake me when something good happens."

In all the excitement, he had almost forgotten that Watson had been injured and that he would need his rest. "Yes, of course." While John slept he could begin collecting his things again so that he was ready to leave.

SHJWSHJWSHJWSHJWSHJWSHJWSHJW

He had been ready to leave for days, constantly pacing about when he wasn't helping Watson. He could not wait to return to London, the dirty streets, the thick, smoky air, and the rattle of hansom cabs. Every detail was burned in his mind. He practically trotted into the medical tent, carrying both his things and Watson's, as he knew he wouldn't be able to. "Are you ready, Doctor?" he asked eagerly as he approached Watson's bed.

Watson smiled up at Sherlock, who seemed so happy to leave, "Just about, Phillip is bringing me something from the General before we leave." As soon as he finished speaking Phillip came in, "Sorry, it took me so long, but here." Phillip then handed him a cane, it was very beautiful, "What wood is it?"

Sherlock's eyes flickered to the cane and he smiled, pleased to see it in the doctor's hands. It was quite beautiful, and he could already see what it was, even if Watson could not. "African snake wood," He jumped in immediately. "Hiding a blade of high tensile steel. You really must thank the General for it, it will prove to be quite useful."

Watson smiled as he turned the cane over in his hands smiling, "That's what I thought, I just wasn't entirely sure. Sherlock is right." He got up using the cane to help him up.

"You must thank the General, if I don't see him for awhile." Phillip smiled, "Of course, I will be sad to see you go," he came over and hugged Watson whispering in his ear, "Make sure to hide your relationship with Mr. Holmes, do as I did, find a beard. They are truly helpful." Watson smiled as he backed away, "Of course Phillip, make sure to tell them both I said hello."

Phillip smiled, waved and left the tent after telling Sherlock goodbye.

Holmes said goodbye in return, though his eyebrows lifted in curiosity. He had seen Phillip whispering to Watson, but had been unable to make out the words, and Watson's goodbye to him - say hello to both of them? -only made it stranger. Still, He said nothing on the matter, prepared to question it only when they were alone, where no one would overhear. "Will you be able to walk, old boy, or will you need some help?"

John smiled at him, knowing he wanted to know what Phillip had told him, "No Sherlock, I should be good, but keep an eye out just in case." Is what he replied as he started walking out to the tent. Turning back to him, he asked, "Will you lead the way please?"

Watson may not need help, but Sherlock would gladly, as requested, remain on standby should he need him. "Of course." He stepped away from the bed, forcing himself to slow down a bit, heading outside to the little horse-pulled vehicle that would be their first step home.

John got over to the carriage, then said, "Sherlock, I think I will need help getting in, if I don't want to tear any stitches."

The detective immediately nodded, ready to help him whenever he needed. He first tossed their belongings in, making sure they were out of the way, before he stepped up to Watson's side, offering his shoulder and his hand to assist John inside the covered carriage.

John climbed up. It was a little painful getting in, but he quickly managed it, getting out of the way so Sherlock could get in after him.

He climbed in after Watson, frowning in concern when he saw the pain on his face, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it. He was no doctor, after all.

The carriage began to rattle away, bumpier than they would be in London, but he could hardly care. "We should arrive for the train within the next couple of hours."

From there they would simply have to switch a few trains. They would arrive at Paris first - this he was particularly excited for as well, for his grandmother was French, and it had been some time since he'd been there - where they would rest, and then they would have to take another train to the edge of Europe, and then catch a Ferry back to England, and finally another train to his dear London.

It was painful riding in the bumpy carriage, but Watson was just happy to see Sherlock so happy. He drew the curtain on his side, so it would draw out some of the harsh sunlight. "Are you excited Sherlock?" He asked him wanting to hear the answer from his lips.

Holmes could not help smiling and shrugging a bit with shy embarrassment. "Yes... I know it has not been long since I was sent here, but I had feared that I might never get to see home again. We also have a few days rest in Paris, and it has been some time since I've been there." He closed the curtains on his side too, blocking the bright Afghan sun, leaving only a crack for light to get through.

Watson leaned forward taking his hands, "That is why you must have faith at times like those. As for Paris, will you show me around? It seems as though you have been there before and know the city a little bit."

As Watson took Sherlock's hands, he felt a warm glow in his chest. For three days while he had been in the medical tent, Sherlock had been forced to restrain himself, and now that the cover of the cart sheltered them, he could not resist leaning in to kiss him. "I assure you, I have far more faith now than I once did. I will gladly show you around Paris. I often used to visit it when I was a child - my grandmother was French, and she insisted that my brother and I know her city as well."

John smiled at the kiss, but was sad when Sherlock pulled away to talk. As soon as the last word left his mouth he pulled him back to him kissing him once again.

He nearly chuckled when Watson pulled him in again and he did not fight it, gladly deepening the kiss.

"I would also like to point out…" Sherlock murmured against his lips, "that the French are far more... liberal, concerning our type of relationships. While I would not advise us remaining joined at the lips for the extent of our time there, few will complain if we occasionally share a kiss or two." Or go to a romantic dinner, he thought, smiling to himself at the idea. Perhaps he could arrange for it.

John smiled at him, "True, but we must consider whom we will be staying with. We wouldn't want to alarm someone too badly."

"Of course, we shall simply ensure that we keep our hands to ourselves around our fellow soldiers. The city is big enough that that shan't be a problem." Taking one of his hands, he brushed his lips over the knuckles. Normally, he was not so physically affectionate, but he could not help himself in his excitement.

John smiled and blushed slightly at his show of affection. He settled back into his seat allowing the movement of the carriage to lull him to sleep.

Sherlock smiled giving his hand one last kiss before he released him. He peered out the window, fidgeting eagerly.

It was a few hours before they finally came to their stop at a small train station, the majority of those mulling around wearing the same uniforms. Holmes took up their belongings and climbed out, pausing so that he might help Watson as well. John got out with Holmes's and his cane's help, thankfully it didn't hurt too much. He leaned towards Sherlock, "Lead the way old boy."

He nodded, starting through the crowds and nudging past soldiers to ensure they would not bump into John and further injure him. He approached the train, removing the papers with their orders from his coat pocket. The official standing at the entrance nodded, allowing them and handing back their orders. Holmes happily stopped at the door of the train, offering his hand to Watson once again. He happily took it and climbed in waiting for him so he could follow, too tired and sore to actually lead anything.

Sherlock found an empty compartment to sit. "The ride should be much smoother from here," he assured Watson. They would not hit all the same bumps, save the occasional passing through a station. "We will remain here for the majority of our ride to Paris."

John sank down in a seat. "I think I will rest for a little while, if you do not mind."

"Not at all," He took their belongings, storing them in the top boxes. Now that they were on a train full of soldiers, he had to hold himself back from kissing him again. "Rest, John. I will be here when you need me."

The doctor nodded laying back into his seat to allow the noises of the train and everything on it overcome him and pull him into an inviting sleep.

Sherlock watched Watson drift off to sleep, smiling to himself. For a while, He simply sat staring out the window at the passing scenery, but it was not long before he drifted off as well, legs drawn up so that he was curled into one corner of the compartment.

John awoke a while later to see Sherlock asleep curled up in the corner. He smiled and draped his extra coat over him in case he got cold.

Holmes did not stir until a few hours later. His eyes fluttered and he blinked slowly, realizing that he had a new source of warmth over him and smiling when he saw that it was Watson's coat. He pulled it tighter around him and peered around, attempting to determine how long it had been. It seemed that they still had a couple more hours before they arrived in Paris.

When he heard a noise, John turned to find Sherlock stirring. "Hello there, did you have a good sleep?" he asked.

"As well as I could on a train," Holmes answered, slowly stretching out again. "Shall I go inquire about getting us some lunch?" He was rather hungry himself, a good mood always increasing his appetite.

"If you wish to."John wasn't exactly hungry, which was surprising since he hadn't eaten for a little while.

Sherlock nodded, hopping up to his feet. Despite having just woken up, he was already bounding about again, excitement getting the best of him. "It'll be but a moment," he promised, heading out of the compartment toward the front of the train.

John smiled as Sherlock walked out of the compartment and started on his way to the front of the train. He was so full of excitement Watson couldn't help but feel his heart fluttering in his chest.

_A/N:_

_Hello to all my readers, sorry for taking so long, my wonderful beta .flower quickly got this to me after I sent it to her, but due to reasons on my end. Such as my mother being in and out of the hospital and I being in charge of my family. I have not looked it over until just now, sorry .flower and other readers._

_But this is dedicated to .flower for doing the work I am to lazy/busy to do! And I hope I will have the next chapter up quicker, and it will probably be waiting on me. I love you all!  
>Savannah!<em>


	11. Author's Note VERY IMPORTANT

Hey everybody! This is going onto all of my stories, and my page, I don't know if you guys have seen my page but a lot of things have happened recently.

I started college and it's been really super busy

I've been working on my own novel because I just got this AMAZING opportunity

For a long time I haven't had a computer, I just got one two weeks ago it's been hell

HOWEVER I will still

Be writing on my stories

On a rarity post the stories, until I receive more time

Put all of my unfinished stories on an hiatus

Special note for certain stories/oneshots

My _Once Upon A Time_ oneshots are going to be rewritten and turned into an actual story!

My mini Labyrinth story will be either deleted or rewritten if I can come up with a better idea, if I do rewrite it it's not on the top of my "to do list".

All of my stories based off role-plays are put on hiatus indefinitely.

My Snape/OC story will be getting a full story prequel when I get time to write it

My Sherlock story will be getting a read along copy for the RDJ version, if that makes sense.

All of my other stories are put on hold but will be finished! I promise, just no idea when.

Just know that I love all of my readers and I promise to get back to you as soon as I can!  
>~jeffhardyluvsme<p> 


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